"Thank you," she said. Akiame had made an island of herself—she held a steaming mug close to her chest, sitting at some distance as Chichiri and Imiko kneaded dough into shapes. "I can never get the hang of bread. It always comes out peculiar."
Chichiri smiled as Imiko carefully stuck the ears on a rabbit-shaped bun. A lull fell over the kitchen. "It's rude of me, but might I stay here for a few days?"
"Would you like to stay a while? You've come so far." They spoke together; Akiame smiled into her tea.
The offer took a load off of Chichiri's mind—he wouldn't have to leave her alone with her grief. She wants to know more about her brother, he thought.
"I want to know more about you," she said. He stared, but could not find anything but honesty in her face. "Though I don't think you'll tell me." She always spoke, he noticed, as if she was working through a difficult puzzle out loud: directly, without insinuation.
He moved carefully to sit at the table next to her. "Well, I don't know. I suppose I'd ask you: Why?"
"You look as though you have an interesting definition of what life is."
"Mm, that's difficult. It's a search; yet, when you find what you were looking for, you see all the horrible blunders you made along the way. And the only thing you can do is go and search for something else." He blinked, having been staring into space. "I'd like to hear yours."
"Life is the string of people who depend on you. Without them…" She looked briefly at him, then away. They both knew what there was then.
"Aki-chan! Want a sweet, please." Imiko bounced impatiently.
"A whole sentence, little miss? I think that deserves one." Akiame rose. "I hide them," she explained, "because little raccoons sometimes get into where they don't belong." Imiko beamed.
When Akiame had gone, Imiko turned back to her work. She rolled up a body, stuck on two arms, two legs, and a head. With a look at Chichiri, she made a thin oblong shape and stuck it straight up on top of the head—a ponytail.
He could only watch, and dread, as she found a bit of straw and squashed a bit of dough around the middle. Looking straight at him, she stabbed the tiny prayer wheel through the manikin's chest. Her eyes practically glowed hazel-green.
"Here we are!" He shuddered--Imiko's eyes went dark as she turned and ran to Akiame with a happy shout. As Akiame walked toward him, he tried to repurpose the horrible little figurine.
"What a strange cow. You continue to amaze me, little miss."
"How so?" He tried not to tremble.
"She's only almost old enough for whole sentences, but she sometimes has those little flashes of brilliance." Akiame frowned. "I don't know what…normal children are like."
The frown did not pass. "Chichiri, did she call me Aki-chan?" There was suspicion in her voice.
"I…I can't be sure."
"No one ever calls me that."
It was as though he'd been caught red-handed, somehow, when Akiame shouted to him from the yard a day later, pointing with a trembling hand at something scratched in the dust.
The words in the dirt read 'Ou Doukun'. "I saw her write this. It's in his handwriting, Chichiri; I'd know it anywhere. What's going on?" There was a desperate, rough edge to her voice.
"I…"
"You're not surprised. You knew! When did this start?"
"The day I arrived. I'm sorry..." Was he that transparent to her?
"I don't believe in ghosts, Chichiri. I don't believe in his ghost."
"I've seen stranger things. Reincarnation, magic, gods...I can't explain any of it, but it's all very real. Strange things happen when the world goes unbalanced."
"This isn't the world, this is my brother. It's been years. There's no reason for him to take over an innocent girl...get down from there, miss! You'll knock your teeth out." Akiame snatched Imiko up from where she was climbing the woodpile, hugged her close for comfort. But suddenly the older girl's eyes snapped open, confused and afraid. She put Imiko down, backed away. And with a final desperate glance at Chichiri, she dashed back to the house.
Days passed. Imiko continued to change, but subtly; it seemed that the part of her who was Doukun no longer lashed out, trying to make himself heard. Rather, and his stomach churned at the thought, it was becoming normal for her to spurt out words beyond her years. She was more withdrawn, no longer quite so young in manner.
But no matter who she was at the moment, she was very concerned about Akiame. The older girl had withdrawn to her room, spending her days dozing or in dull disbelief, thrown further into paroxysms of sobbing when Imiko would address her in Doukun's voice.
He couldn't leave Akiame to go mad. He couldn't leave the mystery unsolved. But every day the feeling that there was nothing he could do grew stronger, and he withdrew as well, sleeping in the warmth of the barn.
He was vaguely aware of a noise, before something hit him and he flew backwards with the wind knocked out of him, suddenly awakened. Akiame stood over him, dark hair silhouetted in moon. "You were sleepwalking," she said, and he noticed that she held his staff as if she'd caught it in mid-swing. "I tried to wake you, and you…" she lowered the staff in explanation. "Well. I'm sorry I hit you back with it. You were speaking, but I couldn't understand it. You were glowing."
There was a small, sleepy sigh, and both noticed in horror that he'd fallen right beside where Imiko was curled on her quilts. Akiame tilted her head to one side, thought for a moment. In her unadorned way, she said, "You've been doing all of this to her, haven't you?"
He knew it was true, suddenly: he remembered the strange dreams, feeling listless every morning as if his soul had been drained dry. She must have understood from the fear and confusion on his face, though he had no breath. There was more emotion in her voice than usual when she spoke:
"Every time I wrote to Doukun, I told him I loved him; every time he wrote he did the same. It was the worst pain I'll ever feel, when he died. But I never resented him for it, I loved him that much. I never begged anyone for his life back. There wasn't anything that could-have-been we didn't have."
"Why?" she plead, "Why do you want him back?" Still half sleepwalking, he tried to form the word 'You'. She sat, staring through her fingers, "How could you have been so wrong about me? I should be so angry. But...I can't resent you, either." There was resignation in her misery, as if life had finally caught her in its game of tag.
Chichiri stopped. "What could I have done?" he muttered. "I ran from my mess. And here I am." He looked up. "You're both drunk!"
" 'S not true." Genrou rested his head on the table, drooling slightly.
Tears streamed down Kai's face. "Taihen da...that's terrible." His eyes spun slightly, opposite each other.
"It's time for bed," Chichiri declared, hooking an arm under Kai's shoulders and heaving the smaller man up the stairs.
"Chichiri!" Kai staggered, caught himself with both hands on Chichiri's shoulders. "Y'know what women really want? They just want someone…who won't screw around with their shit, yeah? Just leave 'em alone! And tell 'em they're pretty sometimes…" All attempts to steer him toward his room failed. Chichiri sighed, held a hand to his face in concentration. "An' buy us something every once in awhile, too, that helps…" Chichiri pressed a palm firmly to the boy's forehead.
Kai straightened up slightly. "Woo! Feels better. You're a good guy, Chichiri. G'night." With only minimal wobbling, Kai walked himself into his room. Chichiri paused, playing back the conversation in his head. He frowned, then smiled, coughing out a disbelieving laugh.
"Hey, buddy? I d'n feel so good…" Genrou crawled his way slowly along the hall, holding the wall for support. Another dose of chi to the forehead and he, too, was fit enough to find bed. Chichiri considered the door to his own room a moment, then turned and headed out down the stairs.
Genrou snorted suddenly, and sat up. Black! Why was everything black? His stomach rolled, agonizingly. The world slowly began to separate from the nauseous dream he'd been having. He was in a room, in bed. Knowing something was nice.
All right, kid. You've been here before. Get your bearings. Then, take a piss. He spun out the internal monologue as he stood and found his way out the back door, talking to himself in short sentences.
Victory! He left the outhouse feeling light and fully awake. With his new energy, he meandered off toward a brook in the near distance, the only thing glittering in the moonlight.
Chichiri appeared out of the darkness, sitting cross-legged in a shadow. "Lovely night, isn't it?"
Genrou yelped and fell, somersaulting into a nonchalant sitting position. "Oi! Er. Yep. Sure is." He picked a leaf out of his hair.
"I'm sorry about that."
"Nah, no worries." It was weird how not-there Chichiri could be, he thought. And here he was, supposed to be the bandit stealth-master! He searched for something to say, having disturbed his friend's meditation. "So. You've got it bad for this Akiame chick, huh?"
"Aa--!" Chichiri sat up in surprise. "I should have known you wouldn't develop any more tact after a year…" He sighed. "I don't know what I feel about her. It's certain what I think I feel and what I actually feel are different. Seeing as I tried to turn that little girl into Chiriko, just to make her happy."
"Hey, yeah. I never knew you could do all that weird magic stuff you've been doin'. I mean, maybe when it was important and stuff, but…ya think you could cure a hangover? Gonna have a wicked one in the morning…"
Chichiri chuckled. "I've noticed it. It's frightening—it just falls out of me, like stopping that girl who was falling, earlier. I can't help feeling…like I'm coming apart. I can't trust myself, no one can really trust me."
"Wait—that's why I said we had to meet up every year, yeah? Without Miaka 'n Taka around to mess the world up, you get all depressed." Genrou gestured wildly. "Plus, you have to finish your story next year, come back and tell me about it. Go back and tell Akiame...you're sorry or something. I dunno."
"The story's over, Genrou. I left. That's all."
"That's not an ending! Ya gotta have a damn adventure! Why did Kai and I go out and have all those adventures if you're just going to give up?" Genrou paused. "Er, actually, I dunno if Kai had any adventures. Probably, though."
"I'm still confused about him. Where did you meet?"
"Naw, I can't give the whole surprise away, it's not fair t'him. Well. I met him a few days ago, right? And he told me some things, and I said, 'Hey, you have to come meet my friend Chichiri,' and he said fine. That's all I know."
"He seems…unique."
"Yeah, he's weird, innee? Never met anyone like him."
"It seems to be taking longer than I thought to get through all of our stories, ne? I guess we do have three years to recount between us."
"Don't worry about it. We'll go fishin' tomorrow or something; it'll be fun, you'll see!" Genrou yawned and moved to stand up. "Come on inside, it's late. Early, mebbe."
"I'll stay here for a little while, I'd like to see the sun come up. Have a good morning, Genrou."
"G'morning! See you…later."
As he ambled through the hallway to his room, he stopped short, hearing an angry voice through Kai's wall: "You can't tell anyone." His criminal sense detected the clink of underhanded money. A softer voice spoke; he though he picked up the word 'embarrass', but no more. Footsteps shuffled toward where he stood with his ear against the door.
Frantically, he leapt into the cover of an open, dark room, as Kai's door opened and the waitress from downstairs padded out, looking peeved. "Just…be quiet and leave me alone, ok?" That was Kai's voice from inside the room, more tired than angry now.
"You don't have to be rude about it," hissed the girl, and shut the door firmly but quietly, making her way downstairs tight-lipped.
Genrou dashed to his bed in a blink. Why would Kai be angry, depressed even? That couldn't be how it worked when you took a girl to bed—there had to be something strange going on, here. Still, he couldn't help feeling…betrayed, somehow.
He closed his eyes, and remembered nothing more.