Chapter 8, Part 3
Jien wasn't sure how long he had stood there, anxiously waiting for a response from within.
He could sense that some time had passed, half an hour perhaps, but as the air cooled and his ankles ached in protest, he grimly acknowledged that it could have been considerably more. A significant pyre of cigarette butts had collected by his feet and he kicked them off the front path in idleness; he knew the healer was inside, a gentle candlelight flushed from underneath the doorway. The soft red-ish glow of a dimly lit room cast a flickering outline over the wooden frame. Jien shifted from one foot to the next, with a tense yet steadyrhythm. Now it was simply a question of whether or not she would answer the door.
Dispite himself, he knocked again; the rapid succession left tiny pin pricks of blood on the damp, wooden panels. He stared down at his hands with genuine surprise to find that the tight skin over his knuckles had begun to split and bleed, a short, crimson smear mingled in with the dirt and grime. He flexed his fingers; they were stiff and unwilling yet strangely pain free; the encroaching cold had numbed his aching limbs. He raised his hand to knock again but found that he had stopped himself; he let his hand fall to his side.
Some time passed and the first waverings of doubt began to play on Jien's mind. He had no way to tell how exactly how much time their ascension up the mountain path had taken, or how long he had lingered at Mei's or even the passing moments he had simply been standing here on the hill top. Goyjo had folded himself up, cross legged on the ground sometime ago. He had let out a soft, sobbing groan as he sat, but had fallen silent long since; his eyes lay half closed in a strange, restless sleep.
Curled up against the base of a tree stump, Goyjo seemed to be nothing more than a tangle of limbs. Whatever weight he had, he had lost; he seemed to have barely enough muscle to hold himself upright; his face had developed that pinched, angry look of starvation. His breath came out in husky little gasps, either he was having trouble breathing or it hurt to do so, each singular wheeze struggled to escape from barely parted lips. The edges of his mouth had developed a nasty trio of sores and around them the skin cracked and bled and wept. He was glossy with sweat and even it the semi-light it was possible to see the yellowish tinge he had developed. But worse were his eyes, the iris was still a burning scarlet, but now creeping little blood vessels had begun to work their way into the ivory white.
It seemed his eyes were swimming in blood.
Jien found it was easier just not to look.
He cast a quick glace to the town below. The woodland, at this height, was a little thinner and more sparse than usual for the season, it allowed the steady glow of artificial lamplight; the gentle hum of distant nightlife. Small crowds were still congregating on the main roads and meant that on this busy Friday evening the bars were still open. It was 2am at the very latest. Was it time to try and make it to the next town? He had made it in less than 5 hours once, he thought with a strange, desperate optimism; Jien gave his shoulders an a pre-emptive stretch, but found his muscles tight and sore. He cast a short, pained glance down to Goyjo.
The door opened quite suddenly and Jien took an small, instinctive step backwards. There was darkness, it seemed as if the room before him was cast into more shadow than the evening woodland. A wave of scent flooded his keen senses; at first, the musky thickness of moss and decay, the predicable smell of a small, damp home, but then something else. He inhaled and thick curls of smoke spilled from within, the warm pungent scent of burning essence.
Jasmine; he recognised the fragrance immediately. It seemed as if a light had been turned on inside his head and vividly, a wash of sights and sounds and memories began to bombard him.
Short springtime gatherings in the semi-dusk, men sat round barrels and crates, thick work boots collected in heaps by fractured doorways, the smell of pipe tobacco and cheap cigars. Holidays, the dead stone temple filled with life, banners and sweat tang of dripping peach flesh. Hanging paper lanterns, emblazoned with red and orange, patches of smouldering black from melted candles. Drawn open shop windows, sunshine spilling into dusky rooms, cheap candies flung into rabbles of skinny children, the shouts of rough play. The soft glow of a funeral pyre, the scent of ash and wetness of tears. The mourning.
It was a childhood smell; neither good nor bad, that brought back that emotionless memories, neutral snapshots of his own life. Nothing substantial, nothing that had the power to move him. They were too far away, too long ago.
His mother had often burned incense; potent and highly experimental Indian mixtures that filled the house with a sweet, exotic smoke; it would rise to the ceiling and linger around the light fixtures where it would stay until it became too stale and familiar, to be replaced with the next anticipated new scent. It was a cheap pleasure. As far as Jien knew, his mother had not bought incense for any reason in particular, the house had once had a small stone shrine in the back garden, but he could not remember it ever being used or even what had ever happened to it over the years. It occurred to him that she must have bought it for the simple reason that she liked it. Which in itself felt bizarre.
It semmed to him that these memories must be of his very early childhood, certainly before his father's death for his mother had been forced to stop burning incense when she began to take on laundry. He remembered that she had received complaints about the smell, that the odour clung to the sheets when they were returned. It seemed strange to see an early image of his mother in the back of his mind, when a more recent and disturbing picture had long since developed. Her hair had been shorter then, an exotic Youkai blonde that she kept combed his a rough, wavy bob. Her fringe she would always cut herself and he could clearly see an image of her squinting into a handheld mirror by he bathroom door, a pair of nail scissors expertly snipping away through a set of polished sharp nails.
The more he inhaled, the sharper the memories seemed to become. The air itself had thickened, but soon enough the cool night air began to diffuse the aroma and quite suddenly the hazy, drunken feeling began to pass. Jien took a deep breath of clean, icy air and stepped into the doorway. As he did it seemed all the words that he had constructed during the wait had left him, the space behind his eyes was aching from the memories and now his mind only felt sluggish and heavy. Youkai magic? He wondered, the long wait had numbed his apprehension of JuJin but quite suddenly he felt a sick little twinge of fear in his stomach.
Moonlight spilled onto the dirt floor and threw the room into a hazy semi-light, woodland shadows cast themselves upon Jien's form and although a series of candles burned within, their flames were small and weak and could not fill the expanse of the room.
"Sha Jien" A voice resounded from the semi-darkness and with slow and deliberate step Aunt JuJin stepped into the moonlight. "You are persistent?"
It wasn't as much of a question as a statement, but still there was not a drop of humour or friendliness in her tone. Her voice was husky, low and had the smooth ring of a youngish girl, but it was overly formal and old fashioned in practice.
The power surrounding JuJin was like the blue heat in the very centre of a flame, it licked the very surface of her skin with short, controlled bursts. Jien was not overly familiar with magic but even his inexperienced senses could feel the tendrils of her chi thread themselves into the very air itself. Her age was indeterminable, the same youkai magic that that pulsed through her lithe, sleek form kept her young and beautiful. Her clothing however, betrayed the illusion; her dress was traditional and overly ornate. It spoke of past centuries and long disowned traditions.
The name, Aunt JuJin was an honorific title. As far as anyone knew, it was not a family or even a clan name, the term 'Aunt' was one not developed out of affection but rather an unhealthy amount of fear. She was a woman who was respected and feared by youkai population of the town and simply feared by those that were human. The patch of land she owned was included in no charter or deed, but she had commanded the lofty view over-looking the town without question for more years than anyone cared to remember. She offered her services as a healer and had done so since the dissolution of her clan. Her nomadic life had ended long ago and despite her healing prowess, her magic stank of a darker and more deadly source.
Sumire had visited 'Aunt' JuJin not long after her husband's death and what she had received there must have given her solace, for she soon made the journey twice, sometime three times a fortnight. Jien had been young, how young he wasn't sure and, unaware of his mother's sickness, he could only remember long winter evenings alone watching an infant Goyjo scream and wail in the confines of his cot. On those nights he had sometimes slipped into the room and held his younger brother, rocked him until his cries began to fade and soften. Sat cross-legged in the crib, Goyjo resting against his chest, the child would sometimes quieten, but Jien did not know the first thing about what a baby needed and had no idea how to stop the tears. Often, instead, he would shut all the doors to block out the piecing wail and wait for his mother on the back step, hands firmly pressed over his ears as Goyjo screamed fruitlessly within. He remembered the panic he had felt when she did not come home until morning and the bitter longing to shut his little brother up so he could just get a little sleep.
It had seemed like such a basic want, something he should have been entitled to.
The oh-so generous 'aunt' charged twice what he earned in a mouth, not counting the price of the various ointments and salves that his mother had greedily purchased during her visits. He suspected, with a great deal of bitterness, that his mother's 'healing' had gobbled up the last of her savings and had been abandoned when she could no longer pay for her treatment.What could this woman have prescribed for his mother to fix her?
He could only wonder, Sumire had never spoke of her treatment. It was when she had run out of money for the healer that she had begun seriously drinking, the numbness it brought was the same sort of relief that JuJin had prescribed, but convinient, a mere fraction of the price.
"Yes," He answered, though he could only manage a gasp. He realised quite suddenly that he hated this woman with his entire being, his voice shook slightly and he tried to swallow the lump in his throat.
"You bring Hanyou into my house, Sha Jien? My house of healing? Of purity?" The air cooled another couple of degrees, Jien was not perturbed.
"Please, honoured Aunt," Jien bowed to the waist and stayed there. He felt the words spill out more readily of his horizontal form "He's real sick. He can't eat, he has a fever, his skin..."
There was a silence and intrepidly Jien began to straighten, JuJin had covered the distance between them in an instant, her bare feet padding soundlessly on the dirt floor. She cast a short look to the mongrel child hovering fearfully at her doorway, her lips curled in a cruel smirk.
"He is young, I cannot disagree with that. And he is ill. Very ill. I recommend...", her eyes flickered over Goyjo's face, the rounded human ears, canines that could almost pass as unremarkable. She let out a short barking laugh, "...that you take him to a human doctor."
"I can't there aint one here yet." Jien rose, ever so slightly, his polite tone began to dissolve, but his eyes remained focused at the ground.
He tried to even his voice, "I've tried the other healers, they wouldn't even look at him."
JuJiin tilted back her head, she looked Jien over with a critical eye.
"This is none of my concern Sha Jien. Go home to your mother."
Jien stood upright, the rejection seemed more bitter than he had imagined. JuJin had been a long shot, Mei's suggestion had seemed ridiculous at first, but a long and difficult journey up the rocky pathways had suddenly forced all his hopes upon her. His mouth opened in protest, but even now the air was heavy and cold and it seemed to have taken away all of his breath.
"Please, we walked an hour to get here." His voice had become a whisper and Jien could never remember feeling so helpless and humble in his life. It was not in his nature to be either. He stood straight but his eyes fell to JuJin's feet.
"Well, my child, he is certainly in no condition for walking" She let out a wry chuckle and fell into a rocking chair in the far corner of her room. Dropping with a serpent's grace, she ran her fingernails over the split and rotting armrests with steady, rapid taps. "You ask too much." She shook her head quite slowly and looked into the fellow Youkai's eyes. "I suggest you leave"
"Tell me what's wrong with him then eh?" Jien felt himself begging, "You don't have to touch him, you don't have to do anything. Just tell what's wrong and I get whatever he needs myself."
She let out the same ugly laugh and it aged her.
"You are a desperate man Sha Jien," She stood, her body slithered fluidly out of her seat as if the very air beneath her propelled her form. Her eyes flashed, the striking Youkai amber locked with his own and a slight, stretched smile appeared on her lips. "No, you are just a boy yet, are you not? Perhaps not yet twenty years old? How far there is left to go for you. Not even begun. The stink of sex ages you, Sha Jien"
Jien's head snapped up and a foul, base anger swan through him. A snarl played in his throat but he forced in down. There was too much at stake to loose his temper now and even then, whether or not he realised it, the power pulsing through her ancient form overwhelmed his own with such ferocity he could hardly move without feeling her chi propel itself around his limbs. An invisible and terrifying force.
"Sha Jien, you are un-clean. You dishonor your race." The leap was startling and in a moment she was on top of him. Her hands clamped down upon his and she pinned him with ease on the dirt floor. Her breath was foul, the rotten meat of a decaying cadaver, a aged smell. Her coverings slipped around her waist, cascading layers of vivid embroidered silk exposing her bare, skeletal chest. Her breast bone poked through tight discoloured skin, the scarred flesh of the battlefield marring her serpentine form. It seemed that there were wounds that even her magic could not heal. Her tongue ran over her puckered, reddened lips revealing the fierce canines that lay beneath, as if relishing a particular sweet and pleasurable taste. With her neck twisted up to the sky she rubbed her body up against his own;
"Is this how you hold her Sha Jien?" Her voice was soft, a sultry whisper. "Is this how she squeals for you?"
With a grind she brought her hips to his own and from her throat a gasp of pleasure escaped her lips. It was his mothers voice, a smoker's rasp enveloped in guilt and need and pleasure. She brought her face up her his own, as if to steal a kiss...
Empty bottles left around the kitchen table, congrgating by the bedroom door, clustered and huddled upon the back step; gangs of twos and threes, groups of nine and ten, the ghostly aroma of spirts, the yeasty stench of beer, a discarded, disgrunteled army of liquor marches through the house, their labels are unreadable, torn with sharp, vengeful fingernails. No varnish, no red (blood) nail varnish. Scarlet is for (blood and) whores ("Su, her name was Aniko, I called her Aniko,"), nice girls don't wear red.
Smoke rising from a hijacked saucer, wedding china ("not worth a fortune, but I suppose it's something to save for the grandchildren, something to keep nice, put it on the top shelf won't you Ren?") streaked with ash and drowned in tears ("she got pregant Su, she died, I took the kid home").
A Stark cavernous body ("His name is Goyjo"), skin and bone united in hate ("No ophanage, please Su, I wouldn't wish that on anyone let alone my own..."), a gaping hole, a starving woman.
Two jagged lines, ("Mom, what are you...?") two flaps of skin ripped open ("Mom, what the fuck are you doing to yourself!!") into two gaping wounds (Mom, please, put it down, Mom please, we can talk about this...just..."), two desperate loud and screaming cries for help.
A teatowel saved her life, (masking tape "No Jein, I'm, I just wanna die Jien!") and a teatowl bandage save her life. ("O Jien, you've saved my life, I could have...I wanted to...but now you've saved me.")
A careless innocent gesture, a tired desperate act. Parched lips curled into a lustful O ("Oh plese Jien I need you"), a passionless ("Please wont you") kiss, an embrace born from pity ("Mom, I do love you, you know I do,) thick gooey (Lies) , two figures kneeing hand in hand upon a blood stained duvet both eager to avoid more from spilling.
A hungry touch, a call of ("Oh, Oh yes) sufffering love, long sharp Youkai fingernails that scoop up flesh and hair, trembling bodies, A steady thump, headboard and wall in union, (Oh touch me, oh yes!") a bargain, an ghastly act of protection. ("Goyjo")
A shiver, a deap and profound shame. Yet pride, a strange shameful pride.
...But the kiss didn't come, a clawed hand caught his jaw with a swift, steel grip. JuJin's eyes bore into his own, amber upon amber, powerful upon the weak.
"Incest." The word slid out as a hiss, "Your crime is an unnatural one and I can smell it." A smile played upon her lips as she inhaled long and deep above his mouth.
"I can smell the sin on you. Sha Jien." She placed her hands over his heart, one laced over the other, as if she was feeling for each rapid beat. "The Hanyou are an ill omen, you are unfortunate because you let it live. You have brought your fate upon yourself."
Paralysed, Jien began to tremble as she lifted herself off him and he once again found he could move. In the absence of the incredible weight, he scrambled to his feet, shaken, he began to back away from her. But she no longer appeared to notice him. He almost began to protest, to defend himself but he couldn't find any words, his body would not obey him. His skin throbbed where she had grabbed his forearms, he clutched at them but the skin burned and reddened under his grip. He lowered himself down to his haunches, gasping for breath, he glanced towards the door.
Goyjo was no longer behind him.
There was a flash of panic behind his eyes, with a wild, unnerving stagger he turned from the woman and flung himself into the night. His eyes scanned the horizon, manically darting through the undergrowth. His heart pounded in his ears; the day had fully turned to night and even with his sharp eyesight he could not sense where his brother had gone. A fresh gulp of panic hit his throat and suddenly retched onto the path. Sick with fear.
Goyjo had collapsed not a couple of yards down the mountain path. He didn't know why he had suddenly fled, he had felt himself backing out the doorway, as if the room itself had was rejecting him. He had staggered, bewildered, down the track, he had fallen and hadn't got up.