Chapter 13 - Sacrifice
Actions are not eternal. Once they have been performed, they rely on memory to retain their potence. When memories are left neglected, they fade from consciousness and slip away into nothingness, as though they never were. However, to suppress a memory is to deny that the event itself ever took place. Things that are done cannot be undone. Effects that have sprung forth in a moment will reverberate for the rest of time.
A fleeting trace of the past always remains; and so, an ayakashi might find it, latching onto fragments which have long been left abandoned. Ayakashi have superior powers of recollection. Because they have no physical existence, all events, past and present, remain real to them.
Where human error and spiritual discord converge, the mononoke are conceived. Such creatures will seize control of discarded memories, for the sake of their own gains. They will attempt to influence those humans whom the memories evoke, manipulating the future through their grasp on the past.
Try though they might, however, experience cannot belong to more than any one being at a time.
Human recollection is an inaccurate tool, twisting events to favourably suit its own preferance. Even the most concrete of facts carries a certain amount of ambiguity. This is an unavoidable anomaly. Human nature is always concerned with itself first and foremost. Man's selfishness becomes individuality, an aspect which cannot be emulated by any other being, alive or otherwise. We see all what is around us as in a mirror, reflected in ourselves.
We each carry our own singular history.
As these memories of the past awaken around you, Kayo-san, you must take control of your own history.
And so, let me ask you…
What memories did the ayakashi steal, in order to manifest in this form?
What events made you the true focus of the jubokko's enmity?
What regrets still remain hidden in your past?
These revelations are a part of you which became disconnected, distanced by time, seen through a distorted glass. Allow this part of yourself to be reunited with the rest. Remember a part of yourself that was very nearly forgotten, lost to the mononoke's grasp.
Please, I humbly request…
that you show us both what occurred that time…
… beneath the old maple tree.
They were once again standing on the road that led through the forest.
There was the straw-thatched shelter, and the old maple tree beside it, just as always. It felt so familiar to Kayo; and yet, there was a tiny note of discord about it, something that seemed slightly alien, a difference too miniscule for her to clearly define. Somehow, it almost didn't seem quite real. It was as though the whole thing were a painted kabuki backdrop, based on real life, but somehow stylized. When Kayo tried to turn her head to look in the direction of the fields, the trees that lined the road dissolved into a swirling grey mist which seemed to press itself against her eyes; it was like trying to look at the inside of her own head. The sensation was disconcerting, and she turned away quickly. A heavy shower of rain fell all around her, but she didn't feel wet, and when she extended her hand, the droplets passed right through it. Or perhaps it was her hand that passed through the rain. She wasn't sure which was more solid, herself or the scenery.
This view before her was true to life, right down to the last red leaf pressed into the mud, the last strand of straw in the hut's thatch. But it wasn't real. This place was a place in memory, not the real thing. That was why Kayo was like a ghost here. This was the past; the present did not yet exist. She was an impartial witness, just as she had been back at her old house, as she had watched Tamaki's abuse unfold before her eyes.
This vista before her was far more pleasant to look at than that debauchery had been. The scenario had all the tranquil atmosphere of those painted scrolls that people loved to hang on feature walls. And yet, it retained all the imperfections of real life. The mud splashed up where the rain pounded it, like blots of ink tumbling from an unclean brush. The fallen maple leaves were flattened against the ground, dying flashes of scarlet that gradually melted into a brown, muddy soup. Only beneath the roof of the hut did the scene retain its idealized look. Though the driving rain should have screened it from view, Kayo could see inside it as clear as day; as if she herself stood within those threadbare walls.
A woman was sitting on a low bench, weaving lengths of dry hemp into rope. Though her dark hair was flecked with thick bolts of silver, her thin brown fingers moved with a dexterity that belied her age. Kayo remembered those same fingers performing many other tasks with just as much proficiency – deftly threading the slit-like eye of a needle; pointing to show her how to properly set a stitch; stirring a pot of rice porridge over the hearth; combing Kayo's own hair with a rigorous, yet gentle touch. Kayo recognized the woman as her own grandmother - and yet, she looked different to how Kayo remembered her, from the last time that she had seen her alive. So long as Kayo had known her, her hair had been completely grey; and her face now looked as though some of the wrinkles in it had been flattened out, with only a touch of extra softness around her eyes and the corners of her mouth.
Every so often, the lady glanced at the basket on the seat beside her. Every time she did, the lines on her face deepened as she smiled affectionately. Once, she actually stopped her work to gently tousle a sparse head of dark hair that peeped over the basket's rim. Kayo unconsciously raised a hand to her own hair. Thanks to Daisuke, her hair was now far shorter than it had been at the start of the evening; but she still had far more locks than the baby in the basket did. Yet it was the exact same head of hair.
Kayo was looking at herself as an infant.
Usually, when she saw other women with their babies, she would alternately coo over their inherited cuteness, or sigh at the unfortunate plainness their parents had passed on to them. She was additionally judgemental of her own looks; so it was strange that she should regard the babe in the rustic crib so dispassionately. The tiny face was the right shape to someday fit her own, she supposed; the dimpled cheeks would stay with her into adulthood, and already the prominent pout of the lips was evident. It was a surreal sight to behold; rather like a tree of tremendous height looking down at a tiny seed and wondering how the colossal feat that had manifested its current stature had ever come to pass. Kayo, as she was now, was hardly a lumbering giant; yet, though she saw shades of herself in that miniature version – she had consulted the looking glass enough times to readily recognize them – it was still hard to believe that she had ever been so small. So soft and susceptible.
So vulnerable.
She could sense it; the significance of this vision was so palpable, it seemed to drench the air. And yet, there was no obvious menace anywhere to be seen.
But there had to be. There must be a reason why the fumes of the opium had brought her back to this particular time.
There had to be a kotowari here somewhere…
Kayo watched with bated breath, the suspense causing her heart to patter in time with the falling raindrops, as she waited…
Waited for something to happen…
The scene before her seemed to thwart her expectations; nothing at all seemed to change. The rain fell, the old woman spun, the baby slept. The wind and rain whistled through the straw walls of the hut and rattled in the branches of the maple tree. The sound was a low, soothing whoosh… a gentle, lulling sound…
The old lady must have thought so, for her fingers gradually slowed; her head drooped lower and lower, until at last her hands dropped into her lap and remained motionless. Her half-woven ball of twine rolled out of the folds of her kimono, landing in the dust by her feet; but she didn't notice. She was sound asleep.
Otherwise, everything continued as it had. The rain fell. Old woman and young infant slept. The straw quivered, the maple leaves wafted in the wind.
And Kayo watched.
It took her quite some time to realize that something else was happening. She thought, at first, that the gurgling sound she heard was an overflowing levy in the nearby fields, or puddles in the road draining down the embankment. Yet it grew gradually louder and louder, until it seemed to herald the arrival of an oncoming typhoon…
It made her think of the terrible floods that had dragged her mother away from her, an event which was long past to her now, but still several years in the future of this memory. The knowledge of what was to come made her wary. She shivered, half expecting to see a wall of water knifing through the trees. Yet, though the sound continued, she couldn't see anything so malevolent, so obviously threatening as that…
Then she saw it.
It wasn't particularly sinister. It certainly wasn't supernatural.
Some flaw in the construction of the hut's roof caused the rain to gather in a certain spot. Perhaps time had caused the straw to shift and form a cavity in its midst. Perhaps mildew and rot had eaten away at the structure's core, like a worm in an apple. Whatever the reason, a puddle the size of a cook-pot began to gather in the ceiling. The weave of the straw indeed must have been stronger than it looked, for a veritable reservoir slowly filled there, tinkling musically as the downpour steadily fed it, and still it held itself aloft.
But then…
The roof began to dip, then buckle, then bulge…
The ceiling drooped lower and lower under the weight of the water…
A few drops filtered through to the room beneath…
They fell… and landed…
… right on the rim of the basket, in which the baby slept.
Kayo watched in disbelief as the roof steadily continued to sink. The old woman muttered in her sleep, but settled and slumbered on, snoring softly. She could just barely hear the sigh of the baby's – her own – breath from within the basket…
She wanted to cry out, to rush over, to do something - but how could she?
What good would it do?
The hanging straw sank lower; it shuddered, shredded, and burst open…
With a satisfied rumble, it hurtled down like a waterspout…
… right into the open mouth of the humble cradle.
The baby had no time to wake and cry out. The rainwater tumbled down in one single tumultuous stream; the blankets that swaddled the infant must have stopped it from escaping through the bottom of the basket, for it held the water well.
Too well.
The basket wobbled slightly, its sides shuddering from the sudden force of the extra weight. It only managed to throw a thin trickle out over its sides. Then it righted itself and stood still.
Too still.
The water shrouded the contents of the basket entirely. Barely anything was visible…
A bubble of air… maybe two…
But they swiftly burst and sank.
No more followed them.
A shadow, which may have been a lock of dark hair, drifted serenely just below the surface.
The rain treated the newly-rent hole in the roof as an open invitation. It pelted through, following the path that the previous flow had taken, down into the bowels of that tragic basket. The droplets splashed up, splattering on the old woman's arm and rousing her.
"Is it raining…?" she muttered drowsily to herself. "I'd better cover Kayo-chan, or she might get wet and catch…"
She turned to look at the basket, inside which the sodden bundle of blankets was topped with that sparse, floating mass of dark hair; the entire contents of the basket were completely immersed. The bundle was deathly still.
The old woman froze in horrified disbelief. For a long while, not a single line in her face stirred. Then her lips began to quiver, working in some vain attempt to articulate what she saw.
Then she let out a blood-curdling shriek.
She pawed frantically at the bundle for some time, trying to coax a sign of life from the cold, water-logged little body; at last, when this vain attempt failed, she began to wail hysterically, as she crumpled to the ground in a fit of despair.
Standing on the opposite side of the road, the rain falling through her unnoticed, Kayo – the current Kayo – had buried her face in her hands, no longer able to watch. Her shoulders shook with great sobs; tears seeped through her fingers to join the insubstantial rain.
"T-t-that w-was…"
She somehow managed to form the words as fresh sobs racked her. "That child… that p-poor child who d-d-drowned… that couldn't have… b-but that… but that w-was…"
But that was me… I died…
A hand came to rest on each of Kayo's shoulders. One of them wore a gold ring with a red stone.
The medicine seller stood behind her; he gently drew her towards him. Kayo dropped her hands and leaned back against him. She was still shaking, though she didn't feel cold; her cheeks were wet, though the rain had not touched them.
"This is not a true memory," the medicine seller said, his breath brushing comfortingly against her cheek. Though she could not see him, he felt reassuringly solid and real in the midst of this haze-like vision. "It is only a representation of what might have happened, had events shaped themselves differently. Let us now look at what really occurred all those years ago, beneath the maple tree."
He reached for the pedant that hung around his neck, and taking it between thumb and forefinger, he turned it on its chain. As he did so, it seemed the world paused…
…hung precariously suspended in stagnant time…
…then slowly, slowly began to turn back upon itself.
As the pendant's round orb completed one full revolution, the entire scene was reset.
Kayo found herself once again on the road that led through the forest.
To the average eye, not a thing at changed. The rain still fell; the leaves of the trees still whispered in the downpour; the old woman still joined it with the soft rumble of her snores. In fact, it was the same rain that fell, the same leaves that murmured, the exact same breathe producing the exact same snores; all that they had just seen was happening again, a perfect duplicate of those few moments in time.
Only now they had warped, becoming something else. The speculative vision had converged with reality.
Once again, Kayo watched.
She knew now, knew what was going to happen. She knew what to expect. She was watching the raindrops, listening to the random pattering sound they made, trying to discern a familiar pattern, a miniscule spark of recognition, some type of cue or sign; something that would give her an indication of what was about to unfold. Something to show her that the impending sequence of events had somehow changed. She knew what was coming, and was bracing herself for it; at the same time, she was desperately willing it not to happen.
Then, after what seemed an age yet was all too quick, it came. The tell-tale sound of trickling water.
The first time she had seen it, it had seemed to happen painfully slow, as though some cruel force had wanted to make her feel the full brunt of that crippling despair; to torturously live each moment, as she had watched herself die. Now, everything seemed to be happening too fast.
The roof dipped – the straw split – the water fell –
And still, nothing had appeared to stop it…
The icy jet tumbled down toward the prone basket, and the precious load it held…
Then, it happened-
Quick as a serpent striking, a single branch of the maple tree bent at a drastic angle, stretching urgently towards the hut…
It could barely reach, but somehow, it made it. The canopy of crimson foliage neatly shielded the infant's head, the water rattling like scattered bones over the blood-red leaves. Diverted from its original course, the water plummeted out of control; instead of coming to rest in the basket, it pour right over the old woman's arm. Her sleeve was still hitched up from her work; as the cold spout prodded her insistently, and she woke with a startled gasp.
"It's raining…!" she exclaimed groggily, hurtling abruptly back into the waking world. "I'd better cover Kayo-chan, or she might get wet and catch a chill." She turned and noticed the rain tumbling freely in through the hole in the roof. "And there's a leak in the roof, too! How irritating!" She tutted disapprovingly, completely oblivious to the tragedy that had just been so narrowly averted. "This whole thing is falling to bits! I'll have to have a talking to Tatsuya-san about repairing this old hut. We really should get the whole useless pile replaced, but he's so tight with the village's coffers. I'm sure he loosens the strings up enough to slide a little something into his own purse every once in a while. Not enough at one time for folks to notice and accuse him, but a steady trickle adds up after a while…"
The whole time she berated the village head in scandalized tones, she was first tucking an extra blanket round the tiny bundle, then arranging a straw cloak over the entire basket. There was an old wooden tub in the corner of the hut, usually used to gather up the loose chaff after the harvest; she overturned this and moved the basket on top of it in lieu of a seat, moving further down the long stool herself to prevent the arm of her kimono from getting any more of an impromptu laundering.
"We really should do something about this old tree, too," she said to herself resolutely, as she rewound her ball of twine and began working on it again. "Some of those branches are coming awfully close to the hut; if they grow any more, they just might push the whole thing right over. And the way it's leaning like that, it'd only take a single decent push of wind to send that heavy trunk over on top of some poor unfortunate. Perhaps Harada-san could have a look at it…"
As it happened, it would be many more years before the old lady's prophesising words would come to fruition; enough time for the baby in the basket to grow up and do many things – find work as a seamstress, help slay mononoke, explore Edo, return home in disgrace. As Kayo looked, though, she realized that it was already true; the tree was now leaning significantly. It hadn't exactly been pointing directly up towards the sky before, but now its uneven stance was far more pronounced. Its impetuous attempt to thrust its limbs out over the prone little figure must have somehow upset its footing.
Such a simple thing, with such dire repercussions…
The mirror dangled from the medicine seller's hand; he touched it lightly with one finger, and obediently, it began to spin on its chain. Slowly at first, but ever gaining speed.
Time turned with it; whole years spun by in the space of moments. The sun passed through the sky like a meteor, to be followed by the moon, the pair chasing each other across the sky at a heart-stopping rate. People trod the path through the forest; though they looked like they were moving at nothing more than a brisk march, they streaked to and fro as though at a sprint. Every so often Kayo thought she recognized a blurred face or two, but they slid swiftly away before she got a proper look, like leaves scattered by a wintry gale. Gradually, she began to notice that with the passing of days, the tree's position was becoming more and more precarious. It seemed to go through adulthood and reach old age, becoming crabbed and angular, standing with a distinct stoop.
Until, at last, Tatsuya and Harada stood at its base.
The medicine seller let go of the pendant. Time slackened and slowed, recommencing at its accustomed pace.
This was evidently a different day to the one that Kayo had just lived; for a start, the pair were alone, and wore different clothes to the ones she last remembered seeing them in – which wasn't so unusual in Tatsuya's case, but was significant, she decided, in Harada's. They appeared to be deep in conversation, though Kayo wasn't close enough to discern exactly what they were saying. Tatsuya was talking volubly and gesturing excessively, looking down every now and then to avoid tripping over a tree root or dragging the hem of his hakama through the dust. Harada said less, but appeared to say what words he did with just as much emphasis, his broad shoulders stoically set and his entire frame resolutely immobile. At last, it seemed the two came to a unanimous decision; Tatsuya nodded with an over-pompous air of finality, and Harada looked satisfied, stroking the head of his axe with apparent anticipation.
The death knell had fallen. The tree was condemned to be executed.
Despite having never done anything wrong.
Despite its flaws being no fault of its own.
Despite having once saved a life…
The act had been voluntary. The sacrifice was not.
And so, in order to save itself…
At last, the full circumstance of the mononoke's regret had made itself apparent.
Author's Note: Finally! It took long enough, I know!
I have several excuses. First, I was busy finishing my Masters thesis (yes, it took me all that time), and though I was eager to write more of this fic, my uni work had to take preference; I get distracted easily enough as it is (as referenced by how bloody long it took!). Secondly, a lot of plot threads need to come together here, so I worked over them meticulously, making sure I followed up on all the clues and included every vital detail. I hope I haven't forgotten anything!
And thirdly: this chapter and the next one are closely linked, so I worked on both at once. Fortunately for you impatient readers, it means Chapter 14 is already very close to complete! I just need a bit more time to add to it, give it a final edit, and hopefully polish off my thesis whilst I do so (damn thing never seems to end!). I'll also give people plenty of time to read and contemplate this chapter before posting the next one, so please, if you like it or have feedback to give, send me a review – if I get enough, I might post the next instalment sooner! (or not - a lot depends on that damn thesis!)
I hope it was worth the extended wait, please enjoy!
~ W.J.
p.s. I did something that I very rarely do, and generally avoid: I went back and edited an old chapter.
You may notice that this chapter begins with an extended monologue by the medicine seller. The first draft of this chapter began with Kayo standing in the road; the transition to opium-dream seemed too abrupt. So I wrote the monologue, without any definite strategy in mind, just stream-of-consciousness stuff. I only realized afterward that it was similar to the opening of an episode, where Kusuri-uri gives a brief, cryptic recount of the story so far. I liked this idea, but if I were to divide my story into episode-length instalments, the distribution was all wrong; it was split into two unequal halves, since my story is now nearly finished (!). To mimic the show's format properly, it needed to have three parts of similar length. So I went back and added a short monologue to the beginning of Chapter 5.
I usually hate doing that. It seems like cheating; in traditional publishing, authors can't go back and add words to their books once they're in the readers' hands. It also seems like a betrayal of longer-serving readerships, who had to make do with the older, obsolete version when the chapter was first posted.
I hope nobody minds that I broke my own rule – I feel a bit hypocritical, but it really does accentuate the story. Ongoing readers won't lose much by not reading it, but think of it as a bonus extra, a little Easter egg sort of thing. (I'm probably making a big deal out of something that is less than ten lines!)
p.p.s. I don't think I've ever included so many line-breaks in a chapter as I have in this one! The spooky atmospheric power of the enter key! Gah! Please look forward to Chapter 14!