Chapter 4
Something—what, exactly, she couldn't say; probably a feeling—startled Chihiro back into consciousness with all of Yubaba's subtlety.
She shuddered at the cold sweat sliding down her face and drew in a lungful of the stale air. Disorientation gripped her. Where was she? What happened? There was a fire, wasn't there? Her head ached terribly. Then, with a dolesome look around her, she realized there was no fire. She was someplace dark, dusty, and cold. Her palms slid over wood paneling, and her fingers showed nothing but smudges of dirt and brown dust. Nothing to bear any indication of her whereabouts, she thought grimly.
Chihiro climbed to her feet and tested the floorboards. Based on the sharp creak her step provoked, they were old and worn thin from many footfalls. She froze, expecting her kidnapper to burst through a door, but the silence continued. Chihiro exhaled in relief and crept forward until her outreached hands brushed a grimy doorknob.
"Am I alone?" she asked the darkness.
There was the sort of stony stillness that came from an empty house. It reminded Chihiro of all the times she was home alone—the way she would flinch if the branches rattled, the surprise that every sound elicited as if she was in a castle instead of a cramped house. Hope surged. If they left even momentarily, then with a bit of luck and stealth, she could escape.
Chihiro pushed open the door to find a frogman glaring furiously at her.
"Stinky human," he snarled, hauling Chihiro over the threshold. She shrieked and tripped, falling to the floor.
The spirit's shadow loomed over her like a stratus cloud. Chihiro could feel the drill of his glare, even the ghost of its anger, bottled up like a genie in a bottle. She ignored her smarting hands and shins and climbed up to her feet. "What do you want from me?"
"Surely even your stupid kind can figure that out."
Lin's words echoed. There are vengeful spirits who wouldn't tolerate a human ruling over them—who would go as far as breaking their laws to stop such matrimony. Bitterness burned the back of Chihiro's throat. Haku never said he loved her, let alone hint at a significant future, yet his association with her was spelling her doom.
"I'm not a threat," she said tentatively. "I have done you no wrong."
She saw his self-containment thray in his eyes. "You humans always a make a mess of things! This is another world, a place where the gods can replenish themselves from your mortal dirt. It is certainly no place for a human to come and go as he pleases."
"I was in my world until you brought me here!"
"And we all know you weren't planning on staying there, now, were you? Too infatuated and arrogant to know your place. Too prideful to think you could live the rest of your life here."
The frogman stalked to a cabinet, removed a skillet, and swung it in a casual manner that belied his furious scowl. Chihiro wondered if he was practicing a movement meant to bash her brains.
"But you're a pest, aren't you, like all humans. How come you're still—here? Solid?" He gestured irritably at the human. With a flex of her trembling hands, Chihiro realized the unaccounted miracle that saved her life twice.
"You didn't give me any food."
"Foolish human! Of course not."
"And I haven't disappeared." She squeezed her eyes shut in an effort not to look at her hair-tie wrapped around her wrist. "I don't know why."
Slinging the skillet, the frogman approached. Chihiro stumbled into a door locked with padlocks. Tugging at the chains was pointless, but breaking the window, she thought, was not. All she needed was a distraction—a few minutes of bought time.
"I saved your life! All your lives—all of you. I killed the Dark Spirit; without my sacrifice, he wouldn't have left a stone overturned and a spirit unpunished."
The frog paused, something incomprehensible lurking in his face.
Perspiration slid down her hands, but she clenched them. "Your Lady—this mighty queen of yours—could do nothing against the fiend. The prince and every witch and wizard put together couldn't -"
She underestimated the force of her anger as he crossed the distance, bringing the skillet down in a motion indescribably fast. Reflexes saved Chihiro's life as she ducked out of danger and seized the first object she could find. It was large and smooth and felt deliciously like a sword. Shock replaced fury when she knocked the whatchamacallit over her kidnapper's skull.
The frogman fell like a man dead.
Chihiro regarded the body—so scary in its stillness—and began to shake like an autumn leaf. She was half-conscious of her shrieks and fell to her knees. The notion of being a murderess terrified her, yet if he caught her again, she wouldn't see the light of day. Without checking his pulse, she climbed onto a windowsill and smashed her elbow through the pane. Glass shattered and sliced her skin.
If Chihiro paused to reflect, she would have scavenged the pantry for food, broken the window with a vase instead of her elbow, and taken the club she used to hit her captor unconscious. Perhaps she would've even locked him in that dank room, but none of those ideas crossed her mind. With one quick glance at the motionless frogman, she climbed haphazardly out the window and tumbled into the grass. Then she ran for all her legs were worth.
The air was bitingly cold with the telltale signs of fall, and Chihiro's jacket did little to ward off the chill. Moreover, it was pitch dark. Chihiro could discern nothing of her surroundings except its hilly land and a distant trickle of water. A train gliding across a sea flashed in her mind, and she rushed heedlessly. The speediness compromised her agility, and within minutes she fell, rolling down an incline. Chihiro moved to wipe the grime off her face and saw that her hands began to fade.
"Food! Food—food—food," she gasped.
Chihiro dug her fingers into the earth but pulled out only clumps of grass. She thought of the kitchen she left unsearched and rued her stupidity. As seconds of fruitless searching passed, her fingers became increasingly transparent until they dipped through the earth like water.
Almost against her will, Chihiro felt herself accept death.
A human should not live in the realm of spirits. Those who lingered too long died. Not even Zeniba could maintain her presence or stop the inevitable.
Chihiro looked at the star-speckled sky and thought how much she had yet to do. She never got to make amends with her parents or tell her brother how deeply she loved him. She never got to play with Boh. She never got to tell Haku that her heart was his, even if he did not reciprocate. Then, she thought how awful it was to fade to death. Albeit her translucent limbs brought no pain, she felt a terrible coldness spread through her core, as if she swallowed ice water too quickly. The sensation sickened and frightened her at the same.
But there were worse ways to die.
Then, like the cooing of a dove, she heard a gurgling brook, much louder than before. Water made her think of Haku instinctively, and she stumbled, weak-kneed, toward the source. She spied a stream glimmering faintly in the starlight. Chihiro went down on all fours, lowered her face to the water's surface, and drank. The water was salty and cold, but it solidified her. She felt her heart hammer and blood rush to her tingly limbs. She stopped drinking only when she felt like bursting at the seams.
"A-hem! You, human!"
Chihiro looked up. On the opposite bank of the stream stood a silhouetted figure. It wore a sweeping cloak and had a masculine shape: all sharp angles and parallel lines.
Chihiro bowed.
"What are you doing here?" the spirit demanded.
"I was kidnapped and brought here, and I escaped," she said, unbending.
"Kidnapped! Why would someone kidnap a human?" In two or three strides, he crossed the river and remained impeccably dry. "Do you know where you are?"
"Yes, I am in the realm of spirits."
"And you, human, believe this?"
"I must; it is the truth. My people believed in kami for generations; how can I not?" Chihiro chanced a peek at the spirit; his visage was chiseled and hard as if carved from stone. Two black, unblinking eyes glared at her from underneath a broad forehead and thin eyebrows.
Would he save her, she thought, or destroy her?
"You've been here before," the spirit stated. "You visited the land of the kami. Do you know how extraordinary it is for a human to stumble upon this world once, let alone twice?"
Chihiro settled for what she hoped was a politely confused look.
The spirit sighed in exasperation. "What's your name?"
"My name is Sen." She bowed her head. "If I may, I ask for your help. I am alone and cold, and if I do not find shelter and eat food, I won't survive."
"Why should I help you?" the spirit asked, scoffing. "You humans polluted and drained our world, and none of you deserve an ounce of my help."
Chihiro tried to summon whatever patience there was left. "If you don't help me, I will die. I have outspoken against indecent human practices for long. If there is any way I can repay your hospitality, I will."
Another laugh. "You, child, are truly foolish! Now that you have promised me repayment, you will be expected to fulfill it." Before Chihiro could think of what to say, the spirit grasped her hands. His skin was leathery and warm.
"It is your lucky day, human," he whispered, unclasping his cloak and putting it around Chihiro's shoulders, "for our Lady declared it a crime to harm your kind. Hold on tight."
Light flashed, and the stars fell in dizzying spirals.
Since the crack of dawn, Ivy was up, and now, well into the afternoon, she could feel the exhaustion like poison. It made her limbs tremble and her vision blur with frustrated tears. The skin on her hands was rubbed red and raw, yet she did not dare cease her work. A sigh escaped her, and she pushed away her bangs with a relatively soap-free wrist. If she, a hale girl of nineteen, crumbled under the vice-like grip of tireless work, then how was her elderly aunt faring?
As if the Cyborgs read her mind, a scratchy voice exclaimed, "Ivy, Ivy!" followed by the clink-clank of a wooden cane.
Ivy's gut clenched with fear. She couldn't help it. When one lives under the omniscient scrutiny of the machine-men, fear becomes second nature and a best friend. "Aunt?"
"Leave your laundry," her aunt said, waving a gnarled hand impatiently. "The Cyborgs have called us."
Ivy took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and squeezed the water from a silken tunic. (Cyborgs forbid if she ruined a delicate garment, reason be damned). Then, she hurriedly followed her aunt out of the cellar and into the sun-soaked town quarters above.
Humans—men and women, children and the elderly—stood in a quiet, disciplined semi-circle. In the center stood a Cyborg. Ivy saw him before (she reckoned he was a messenger of sorts) but could not suppress a shudder of revulsion when his freakishly white gaze settled on her.
"As I assume all of you know, the Autumn Equinox will be upon us in about three weeks. Their Majesties ordered an overall increase in your workload as deemed sufficient by your overlords in preparation for the Equinox," the Cyborg announced coldly. He interlaced his metallic fingers and turned, briefly making eye contact with those who murmured in dissent. His purple cloak whispered across the cobblestones with the movement. Such a cloak can feed a family for a fortnight, Ivy mused bitterly.
"However, that is not all," he added, a cruel smile curling at his bronze-like lips. "Her Majesty the Queen will sponsor a banquet to celebrate the Equinox, and, per Her Majesty's orders, five lucky humans will attend."
This time, the whole crowd of humans burst into whispers, murmurs, and even a few exclamations. Ivy glanced at her aunt in confusion, but the woman bent her head sorrowfully.
Humans and Cyborgs never intermingled. Stores and restaurants were divided; humans entered through a small side-door while Cyborgs used the main entrance. Even in parks and plazas, Cyborgs snobbishly steered clear of humans—or bullied them out of the way. Why would the Queen, of all Cyborgs, cross the societal taboo and invite humans to a posh celebration?
"Whom those five humans depend entirely on your work ethic. As determined by your overlords, the hardest-working and humblest among you will receive an invitation to the Equinox banquet."
Any whispers died, and an eerie silence encased the crowd. Ivy chanced a glance upward and froze upon seeing the Cyborg memorizing her features with an intense stare. His lips parted to show a sliver of bleached teeth—a mockery of a real smile. Ivy resisted the urge to touch her hair self-consciously and resumed her perusal of the ground.
"That, humans, will be all. May the day bring pleasure," he concluded, reciting the accepted farewell between a Cyborg and human. He angled his face to catch the sun's brilliance and strode out of the quarters. No horse brought him nor did anyone accompany him. Either gesture was meaningless; the machine-man's iron legs will carry him farther and faster than a mortal creature.
As the crowd dispersed, Ivy hissed to her aunt, "What is the meaning of this? Why would the Queen invite us to her banquet?"
"Hope you're not among the invited for, rest assured, the reason is not her benevolence," the woman said snappishly. "Mind you follow me. Don't linger."
"I thought you did not want me to be 'among the invited;' shouldn't I purposefully slack off?"
Her aunt harrumphed and pointed at the stairs with her cane. Ivy sighed, re-committed a small square of the sky to memory, and obediently descended the stairs. "What now, aunt?"
"The cellar, girl. Don't you have laundry to do?"
Ivy frowned at her aunt—surely her cheeky comment wasn't offensive—but she long since learned to obey her mother's sister. Then her aunt grasped Ivy's arm and pulled her closer.
"Do not make yourself noticed," she warned. "Do not slack off, do not work extra hard, and do not stand out. They won't pick the hardest-working; they will pick someone with a distinguishing characteristic, so do not distinguish yourself. Do you understand?"
Fear returned with such vengeance that Ivy could only gasp and blink at her aunt. The woman gave a growl of annoyance and shook her niece's shoulder for emphasis.
"I mean it, girl! You must not get that invitation; keep your head low. Do you understand?"
"Yes, aunt," Ivy murmured.
"Good, girl. Now go."
As her aunt left to attend her chores, Ivy entered the cellar and bolted the door. The Cyborg's insinuating grin flashed through her mind, and she shuddered. Of course. Of course, the Queen's banquet was awful news; nothing good ever came from those machine-men. Of course, attending a royal festivity as a guest instead of a human-servant would only wreak destruction.
A/N: Thank you for your continued support of my story. I hope you liked this chapter, but even if you haven't, drop a review to share your feelings.
Now, there's something I would like to address. I have noticed that the Spirited Away fandom is slowly dying—there's no other way to put it. Whereas stories were updated daily, now they are updated only once a few months. The Spirited Away fandom is losing interest, readers, and writers, and that is just sad. While I understand it is inevitable for fandom to lessen with the years and for people to find more interesting topics, I also strongly believe that the movie Spirited Away is a timeless classic that should be remembered. Like much of Miyazaki's work, Spirited Away is more of a piece of art than a cartoon. It is a film that deserves not only remembrance but also a flourishing fandom. I ask my readers to show support for the Spirited Away fandom—and no, I do not mean my story specifically. If you are reading a Spirited Away fan-fiction, drop a review for support of the author. If you have an idea for a Spirited Away fanfiction, write it out, even if it is just a one-shot. Let's keep this fandom alive and flourishing! While it is unlikely to gather the popularity this fandom had a few years ago, every action and effort counts.
I know I have not updated this story in a long time, but I intend to see this completed. Hence, it would mean the world to me if you would read, share your opinions on my chapters, and continue to support the Spirited Away fandom. Thank you!