Godhead
Foreward
:.:
Godhead is a story conceived with the intent of poking affectionately at the stereotypes of all the romance manga starring gods and goddesses. It takes the idea of an ancient immortal being fixating on a teenage girl and makes it... well... as creepy as that storyline ought to truly be. Because as much as we love the idea of hooking up with some all-powerful hottie, it would probably end pretty badly for the mortal involved. Gods don't have the same morals that humans do; they don't think the same or feel the same. A god's love would be absolutely, unequivocally terrifying.
Godhead is DARK in places. It's definitely NOT a romance. Satoru is manipulative and a liar. Reader-chan is groomed by a supernatural entity. There is dubious consent within the second chapter. You have been warned.
:.:
Part One
:.:
Our village is special, I'm told by Mama and Papa from birth.
The place we dwell is remote, a secret valley nestled deep in heavily-forested mountains. Our ancestors fled to this place from a faraway kingdom, having been driven out and forced into hiding for one reason or another—the full tale has long been lost to time and the fallacies of word-of-mouth storytelling.
What we know to be true is carved into the altar of our local shrine. Pictographs line the altar's base, displaying what history we now celebrate today.
The tale goes as follows: driven from our homes and land by forces unknown, we wandered for a hundred years looking for a place to call our own. Many of us died—taken by illness and monsters and the Curses that dwell within our own bodies. After a century of aimlessness, we were appointed a guide. Gojo Satoru, the scion of a large and prosperous clan of magic-users, offered to lead us through his lands to safety. Bringing only a sack upon his back and two of his family's favored mousing cats, he'd given up his life of luxury to aid us. He'd bravely fought off the monsters that preyed on us, had cleansed our tainted bodies of their Curses. With him guiding us, we'd made it to our new homeland without losing a single person.
Gojo Satoru was a hero.
He stayed with us while we built our homes and planted our first crops, guarding us from the things that lurk in the dark. And when a great evil called 'Sukuna' attacked us, he'd fought the creature off using his magic. But during the battle, the powerful man was mortally wounded. With his great sacrifice, he'd cleansed the land forever of evil. His body was laid to rest near a springhead and a shrine was built in his honor. Villagers brought his spirit offerings of food and live animals, which they would sacrifice in his name.
Eventually, he became a god in his own right.
O-Satoru-sama, protector of this land.
Our village prospered—crops grew in unrivalled heaps, enough to keep us fat and happy; predators left our livestock alone, so much so that rearing animals could be done without fences; vermin never found their way into our food stores, kept at bay by the descendants of the cats that O-Satoru-sama himself had loved so dearly.
Our village grew in number, and in skills. Eventually, we became known for the pristine quality of our pelts and the intricate leatherwork that our artisans had perfected. We often were asked by nobility—both lower and higher—to make things like finely decorated saddles and sheaths for blades. Despite our still-small size and difficult-to-reach location, we are bathed in trade from all across the lands.
And one day, a man who prayed at the altar claimed that he could hear the voice of O-Satoru-sama. He became the first Head Elder of the village, whose duty was carrying out our deity's divine will. The animal sacrifices were halted on God's orders. And instead, we were asked to bring our children to the alter, so that O-Satoru-sama could meet them and cleanse them of their Curses, as he'd once done to those he'd travelled with.
Traditions were born.
And they persist to this very day, some seven hundred years later.
Before I was brought into this world, my Mama and Papa prayed to the shrine of God. They'd asked him to bless them with a child who would live a long life, which had not come despite many years of marriage. They'd already lost a babe to illness, and many more would-be sons and daughters to stillbirth. In the end, O-Satoru-sama granted their request. Elder Gakuganji had bade my mother to drink form the sacred spring. And when she did, she said she felt God's warmth within her.
Ten months later, in the dead of Winter and under the light of the full moon, I was born.
:.:
I'm three when Mama and Papa introduce me to O-Satoru-sama, as is the village custom. It's the full moon, sometime in the early spring, at the peak of evening. Cloud cover threatens the sacred ritual, but eventually the moonlight shines strongly through. I'm stripped of my red yukata and left vulnerable to the chill of the evening. Lines are drawn on my body using ash from the consecration fires. It is a long process, made longer by a restless child who doesn't understand the importance of such a moment. When the last of the lines are drawn—two horizontal marks under each of my eyes and a vertical one that bisects my lips and chin—I'm given to Elder Gakuganji.
The introduction is short. Elder Gakuganji speaks to O-Satoru-sama, as he has done a thousand times before. The Elder asks that I be protected and loved by the god, as all people in the village are. And that I be cleansed of my Curses.
Mama later explains to me that all humans carry Curses within them. The Curses eat their souls and poison their minds if left untreated. I survived until the introduction, but many children do not. My older brother didn't live to meet our local god. After a single winter, he'd come down with fever that'd boiled his insides. His body was burned instead of buried, so that he couldn't pass his Curse into the soil.
But I'm not my brother-I'm strong. I'll live to be very old; Papa says so, and Papa knows everything.
I'm then led to shrine's moonpool, where the frigid spring-fed waters are superimposed the image of the sky above. The moon continues to shine bright. The light of it turns the world to shades of silver. It's beautiful, my older mind will acknowledge, but my younger self is cold and tired and just wants the ceremony to be done with. Mama rolls up the sleeves of her own yukata and bathes me in the holy waters, dutifully removing the ash from my skin—Curses burned away by symbolic fire and washed free.
Every bit of ash must be removed, or my Curse will persist. I have no Grandma, so the Wisewoman inspects my skin with a keen eye, wrinkled and gnarled claws digging into me as she turns me this way and that. It must be a satisfactory because I'm bundled in my new white clothes. I'm an adult now, I think with childlike pride.
They present me again to O-Satoru-sama in front of his statue. I'm bade to touch my palm to it, to feel the god's love pour into me. And when I lay my hand upon the stone I find it pleasantly warm to the touch.
"The eyes," a man behind whispers in awe. And when I look up, the eyeholes of the statue are glowing blue.
Mama weeps and Papa sweeps me into his arms.
Elder Gakuganji looks on in horror.
I have the favor of God, they tell me. I'm too young to understand, but it seems like a good thing.
A white kitten plays in the moonpool, splashing playfully in the water and rippling the reflection of the sky above. Nobody bothers the cat; they're avatars of God, after all.
:.:
I'm five when my baby sister undergoes her own introduction. The girl is small at three years, smaller than I'd been and frail-looking. But she's strong enough to survive her Cursed body. Mama says that sometimes strength is inside us, and that it's hard to see from the outside. She says that my sister is the strongest of us.
My sister's ribs stick out, and her bones are visible beneath her pale skin. When she walks, it's with a limp, and she wheezes with every step like it's a great effort. She's supposed to be strong? I don't see it, but Mama is one of the smartest people I know.
Mama bathes the ash from her body under the light of the full moon and I worry that the cold water will make her sick again. Papa quells my fears, stating softly that O-Satoru-sama would not allow such a thing to happen. Our god is merciful, he is kind. I grip his hand tightly, drawing peace from his reassurance. O-Satoru-sama is a kind god, I tell myself over and over. I have his favor; he won't let anything happen to my beloved baby sister.
When my sister's tiny hand meets the stone, the eyes don't not glow.
She isn't blessed like I am.
When I bow my head and close my eyes to pray, I swear that I hear a hand brush my head and a voice in my ear. But when I look up, there's nobody there.
"Come to me, Love," the voice had whispered. I feel the heavy weight of eyes watching me, and I can't shake it until we leave the shrine.
:.:
I'm seven when I get lost. The mountain forests surrounding the village are dark and thick, and the fog that laces the trees is impenetrable to even the best eyes. It's early morning when I'm out foraging for mushrooms and firewood. Mama sends me out to do this because I'm a big girl now. I know all the trails to stay on, and Papa warned me not to stray out of sight of the village.
I don't wander too far. I don't think so, anyway.
But when I look up and find myself all alone, I panic.
The sun arches high in the sky as I wander, lost and terrified. Then, eventually, all light sinks below the horizon. It's dark as night's claws rake across the land. Too dark to see, too dark to walk. The mountain trails are perilous and it's only a matter of time before I stumble off the edge of a cliff. So, I find a safe place to hunker down. I tuck myself into the sheltered hollow between tree roots and stifle the sounds of my breathing with the palm of my hand.
Mama and Papa will come looking for me, I tell myself. They'll save me. They have to.
I pray to O-Satoru-sama to lead them to me. But the god is silent as the night that cloaks me.
Terrified, I curl up in the hollow beneath the tree and I wait to be saved. Leaves rustle around me, and I think something is moving through the underbrush. I hold in my gasps, hoping they don't slip out between my little fingers. Whatever it is surely must be able to hear how loud my heart's beating. It feels so overwhelming, and the blood rushing through my head pounds in my ears like a ceremonial drum.
I'm going to get eaten by a monster!
The rustling comes closer, closer, closer…
Until a pointed snout peeks out at me through a gap in the bushes. Then a huge head emerges with pointed ears and dripping fangs: a wolf.
I hold my scream of terror captive. But only just.
The wolf stares at me with its sickly yellow eyes. The full moon overhead lets me see all the details of my death, even through the canopy of trees above. There's a horrible, awful moment where it sizes me up. Its tongue drops out of its mouth, then licks its jowls like it's found a meal fit for an emperor. And I suppose it has. Drool dribbles on the ground between its plate-sized paws. It peels back its lips and growls at me.
I shrink away, finally letting out a shrill scream that pierces the dim of night.
Expecting the creature to lunge, I clench my eyes shut and pray that it's quick. But the predator doesn't lunge, doesn't bite into my soft flesh. There are no teeth or claws tearing into me.
There's only silence.
When I open my eyes, I see only the retreating back of the wolf. It just… walks away.
Papa and his friends find me later that night, curled up in disbelief and staring at the ground. They thank O-Satoru-sama for blessing me and keeping the monsters at bay. They don't believe me about the wolf and claim it's just a story made up by a scared child. Papa tells me that my mind played tricks on me in the dark. But I know what I saw.
The wolf hadn't hurt me.
I don't know what to think about it. Eventually, I start to wonder if I dreamt the whole thing.
:.:
I'm twelve when Papa brings us good news: he's been offered a job outside of the village.
He's the best leatherworker alive, I think with pride, and everybody in the surrounding lands knows it. Papa has often fulfilled orders for nobles that earn him enough money to live comfortably. Our hut is one of the biggest in the village because of it. And we have raised cots to sleep on instead of the bedrolls that most others use at night.
Papa comes home, smile stretched from ear to ear, and lifts Mama up and twirls her around like a princess in a fairytale. He tells us that we're moving to a land far away, and that we'll be able to have a better life there, where we don't have to work as hard.
I'm sad, because I love the village and I'll miss all my friends, but the allure of new overrides that immediately. I wonder what the outside world is like? Do they have mountains and forests and gods like O-Satoru-sama where we're moving? I ask Papa, but he laughs and admits that he's not sure. Papa was born in the village, like Mama and their parents before them.
I talk about it to all the kids my age and we speculate about what could exist beyond the bend in the mountain road leading from the village: giants, dragons, unicorns. My sister and I feed O-Satoru-sama's avatars grilled fish while we giggle to ourselves about meeting a magical creature. The cats nip our fingertips gently and rub against us.
All but the white tomcat perched on the windowsill. I stroke between his ears affectionately, telling him that he should eat before the others do. But he huffs and looks away. Grumpy kitty, I think affectionately.
When Papa tells Elder Gakuganji, the man is all too happy to give us his blessing to leave. The entire village throws a feast in honor of Papa. He has many friends that come up to him and congratulate him, patting him on the shoulder and wishing him the best for the future. When asked when he plans to leave, Papa tells them that next spring should do nicely. It'll give him time to build a home for use to live in before the cold comes back again.
I cling to my sister and the other kids my age, not caring too much for the parties of adults. Elder Gakuganji stops me at one point and takes a knee so that he can see eye-to-eye with me. And he tells me to stay safe. His words are kind but his eyes are haunted. His bony fingers pat my head, and for a moment, I think he might cry. But the moment is gone, and the Elder walks away from us to rejoin the other men.
I stare at him, wondering why the whole exchange leaves me feeling uneasy, but I don't know.
My sister asks again if she can see the ocean where we're going, and I tell her that I'm not sure. But I hope I see it, too. The outside world is a mystery, and I want to experience it.
I never do.
:.:
I'm thirteen when I notice that I'm not like the other children in the village. They combat sickness with regularity: springtime sniffles, summer colds, fall fevers. But I don't. In fact, I never take ill. Not so much as a cough or a sneeze. Mama remarks that this must be the product of God's blessing, that he's protecting me from the evils of the world. It's a miracle, Papa says when I fret about it. I don't get sick, not even from bad food or water. I don't grow weary under the summer sun or blister from the winter winds. It's a miracle from God, and I shouldn't question O-Satoru-sama's divine will.
I wonder why I'm so beloved when the others aren't.
I continue to wonder this as a great sickness sweeps the village. It's in our houses, in our beds. And it takes so many of us away. It takes and it takes and it takes. I'm old enough that I have to help dig holes for the bodies. The cemetery swells beyond its original fencing with new, freshly-turned dirt. My hands blister from the wood of the shovel, and I must pick splinters from my hands, but I don't get sick. Even as the other gravediggers start taking ill, I continue my work. Eventually, I'm digging alone. Tears leave tracts along the dirt of my cheeks. I keep digging.
Papa isn't so lucky. I dig, but he must carry the tiny bodies of the Cursed to the funeral pyres to be cleansed. He layers in fabrics to keep their Curses from seeping into his skin, and he dons a mask so as not to breathe in their foul air. In the end, it does little to keep him from getting sick.
Papa dies in the fall, just as the leaves are changing. We bury him next to his Mama and Papa.
Many, many people die before the end.
Afraid of catching the illness themselves, merchant caravans no longer round our mountain road. We are cut off from the outside world and left to rot on our own.
Elder Gakuganji pleads with God to halt the sickness somehow, but O-Satoru-sama is eerily quiet. Our Elder cannot hear him, for the first time in decades. There is terror in the village as people whisper among themselves that God has abandoned us to our fates. Eventually, Elder Gakuganji, too, succumbs to the illness—we are left without a leader, without a guide, and without the ears to hear O-Satoru-sama's will.
But, still, I don't get sick. Mama and my sister do, but they survive. Mama has to stay to care for us without Papa here, and my sister is strong. By the time the plague leaves us, it's taken over half our number.
But not me; I'm blessed by God.
The other adults must have the same thought, because I occasionally catch heated glances sent my way. They whisper behind the sleeves of their clothing when I pass, eyes cut sharp with malice. I shrink away from them. Their heavy glares follow me through the village. They've lost so much. They wonder why God protected me, but not their children or spouses or parents. I wonder the same thing—what makes me so special?
Even one of Papa's oldest, dearest friends looks upon me with suspicion. The village blacksmith, who'd lost all of his family to the sickness, no longer visits out home. And when I pass by the forge, I feel his heavy gaze upon my person, boring into the marrow of my bones. He pounds away at his anvil, sparks spraying with every tingtingting of his hammer. And I stay away when I hear him at work.
None of the others my age talk to me anymore, either. They avoid me with anger in their eyes and ignore me when I greet them. Only my sister remains at my side. She clings to me after Papa's death, small fingers knotted into my clothing and shadow merging with my own. When I try to leave by myself, she shrieks and screams and throws tantrums. So, I wait until she's deeply asleep before I slip away.
I go to the shrine behind the Elder Gakuganji's empty home and weep at the foot of O-Satoru-sama's statue.
Our god is not depicted as a mere man. His statue takes the form of a giant cat with twinned tails curled around him. Hiding his feline face is a mask, blank of all images save six eyes imprinted upon it in a circle. Each of those six eyes stare down at me with some unnamable emotion. What does God think of us lowly mortals? Does God even think of us?
O-Satoru-sama is said to be a playful deity who enjoys playing tricks upon the village for his own amusement.
I can't help but wonder if this plague is a mean trick of his, if he's somehow responsible for our suffering.
Crying ugly tears, I kneel at before him and wail. My fingers tear at the manicured grass beneath them, and my nails carve deeply into the sacred dirt. "Are we a joke to you, O-Satoru-sama?" I ask his stone likeness. "Aren't you supposed to protect all of us? Why only me?! Why me?!" I bow my head into the earth and water it with my tears. "Why didn't you save my Papa? He was loyal to you; he worshipped you; he loved you! And you… you let him die."
I hardly notice when the air becomes unseasonably warm, nor when the birds and insects suddenly stop their droning song. There is only me and my grief. And our village's silent, absent god.
Then there's the slightest sensation of something sliding through my hair. The weight of a hand, warm and reassuring, presses down on me. I close my eyes and bask in the sensation. It feels loving, like when Papa would stroke my head and hum until I fell asleep. But this hand isn't well-worn or large like Papa's; the fingers are slender, graceful, smooth. This hand has never done hard labor in the fields, has never felled a tree nor carved leather. But it is strong. I feel the weight of it in my bones.
This is the hand of a god, I think blearily.
"I am still here, My Love."
I shiver in place. Is this… is this O-Satoru-sama's presence?
The hand leaves me, and when I sit up and look around, I am alone as I was before. The birds sing again, and the insects buzz. And despite the fall chill nipping at my nose, my insides feel warm. I stroke the hair where his hand had rested and jar his scent loose. O-Satoru-sama smells like life, like sunshine.
I am blessed, I must remind myself. God came to me.
He touched me.
:.:
I'm sixteen when I learn that grief takes many forms. The village-wide grief after the plague had been loud enough to echo off the mountains that surround our valley. My Mama's, though, is silent and steady as the night. She is unwavering in her duty to my sister and I, but she's a changed person after Papa leaves us. No longer is Mama the one who sings while doing household chores. She loves us like the sun—warm, but so very distant. She bathes us in her light for a few hours before withdrawing behind the clouds of her anguish. And when she smiles, it always feels like a goodbye.
My Sister and I gradually take over the home. I cook, she cleans; I tend to the herb garden, she feeds the chickens. Mama sleeps. She sleeps sometimes for days, lying in bed and staring at the thatched roof overhead with tired eyes. I tell my sister that Mama will get better, but sicknesses of the heart are the hardest to heal.
Eventually, Mama stops eating.
I drip rich broths down her throat to keep her well, but she wanes more and more with each passing day. When I ask her why she's doing this, she only responds with 'this is what he wants'. I tearfully tell her that Papa wouldn't want her to suffer so, but it doesn't get a response. Mama is already gone, I realize. There's no saving her, not when she's resigned herself to death.
All we can do is make her comfortable. So, I curl up beside her and stroke her cheek and humming, just like Papa used to do when he was alive.
One day, I enter the room to coax her daily broth down her throat, but I only find an empty body. A white cat is perched on her still chest, staring at her closed eyes. I shoo it away before dropping to my knees. She's peaceful in death, appearing only to be in a deep, deep sleep. Like this, she looks younger and smaller. Trembling, I push hair back from her face, and I press my forehead to hers as tears trail down my cheeks.
It's fall when she leaves us. Very nearly on the anniversary of Papa's death.
We weep at her grave and entreat O-Satoru-sama to look after her spirit. He hasn't stolen her away from us, I tell myself; he's taken her to Heaven so she can be with Papa again. It's better this way, for both her and us. I hold my sister's hand and stay with her in front of Mama's resting place until the sun sets. Then I take her home under the light of the full moon and fill her belly with warm soup. My baby sister, only fourteen and having experienced the loss of both of her parents, sleeps fitfully. But she does eventually sleep. Dark hollows are carved beneath her vibrant eyes.
I know she'll get through this, though; Mama had once said she was strong.
I lean against the window of our hut and peer out into the still night. Overhead, the full moon shines brightly. I stare at it, wondering if O-Satoru-sama is watching us. Elder Gakuganji had once stated that God dwells in the moonlight. When I feel myself wavering, I stop and look at the moon, and I feel him. I feel him under my skin and in my lungs. O-Satoru-sama lives inside of me. Sometimes, I feel his warm breath on the back of my neck and the brush of his hand against the crown of my head. It's always brief, but I know the sensation is real.
Tonight, with the moon as my guide, I walk to his shrine. With the absence of a village elder, our once-pristine place of worship as become overgrown and dilapidated. I weed around O-Satoru-sama's statue before kneeling before him. And I clap my hands together and bow my head.
"Please, God, I ask that you guide Mama's spirit. Don't let her walk to Papa all alone," I plead. Then I rub away my tears. I won't cry at this shrine again. When I get up and turn to leave, I see a flash of blue from the corners of my vision. I look at the six-eyed mask of our god, but find it unchanged. The eyes don't glow. There is nothing different about this stone effigy than what was mere moments ago.
It's only a whim, when I place my hand against the statue like I had all those years ago. "Oh! It's warm," I breathe, surprised. The statue is warm as the sunlight, and it thrums beneath my hand like it possesses a pulse. I press my forehead against the stone cat's chest, taking in the gentle vibrations. This must be a sign that he'd heard my prayer, I think.
God hears me, even when he is deaf to the pleas of others.
Because I'm blessed. I have his favor.
A meow sounds at my feet and I look down to see a white cat at the base of the statue. The feline twines between my legs, purring and chirping. When I kneel to pet him, I notice that he has the most beautiful blue eyes I've ever seen. They look almost unnatural, glowing in the dimness of night. I think it must be a trick of the light, or perhaps a product of my overactive imagination, but… think I see the stars in them.
As fast as he's appeared, though, he runs away and I'm left alone in front of God once more.
Grief has many forms, I know. My grief is heavy, a burden that hangs below my neck like a millstone. As my sister adjusts to life without Mama, I become Mama. What chores were once divided evenly among my sister and I, I take over in full force. The workload is agonizing, keeping up with the household and grinding herbs for the Wisewoman to use in healing. I cook and clean and mend clothes and care for the animals and tend the garden, and do a million other things that leave my hands cramping and sore by the time the sun sinks below the horizon.
My sister's grief, on the other hand, is seething. It boils beneath her skin, waiting to explode. She lashes out at anybody who looks at her wrong. Those in the village—those of us left, anyway—take to avoiding her, lest they end up on her warpath. I try to soothe her with gentle words, to heal her heart with kindness and fresh-baked bread, but she only draws further within herself. She pulls away, little by little.
But I hope that her soul will mend someday, that those jagged edges will temper with time and patience.
Once a week, I pray to O-Satoru-sama's statue. I leave him offerings of sweet buns and little cakes—which Elder Gakuganji had once said were his favorites to eat. I burn scented herbs, weed near the base of the statue, and fish debris free from the moonpool. Each time, I feel the warmth of God in my chest, and swear that the same affectionate touch lingers on me when I turn my back. It's always fleeting, his reassurances, but they leave me uplifted through the whole day.
My new friend often meets up with me at the shrine, meowing and yowling to get my attention. Sometimes I pick him up and cradle him against my chest, pressing kisses to the top of his fuzzy head and stroking the black tips of his ears. I leave the white cat cooked fish, so that he's not hungry either. I'd hate for the avatar of our beloved god to starve, after all.
The other villagers have taken to avoiding me. They glare at me from their huts and speak in hushed tones when I pass by. The unease and distrust will fade with time, I tell myself. They're still upset because of the illness that once plagued us. Once another Elder takes Gakuganji's place as O-Satoru-sama's divine mouthpiece, everything will be alright. It's only been three years after all, and the village has gone longer than that without divine guidance. Before Gakuhanji had come to us from the north, O-Satoru-sama had gone unheard for a decade.
He will have his voice heard again. Hopefully soon.
In the meantime, I know he's with us. He still loves us, even if we can't hear him.
:.:
I'm seventeen when a group of travelers comes to the village. They bring stories of neighboring valleys, and the bounties that exist away from our insular little paradise. One of the men visiting is a lord's son, or so the women of the village claim. Certainly, his clothes are of finer quality than any around here, but sons of lords don't visit remote locations like this. The roads are dangerous because of bandits, and the mountain weather is fickle this time of year.
The Wisewoman hosts them in the Elder's old home. It's large enough to accommodate all thirteen men, and just opulent enough that the lord's son won't feel insulted. I volunteer to prep dinner for them during their second evening, and listen in on their wild tales as I stoke the cooking fire. My sister, who'd been bullied into helping me with such a large meal, seems particularly entranced with the wealthy man in his fine silks. She pays special attention to his drink, topping his wine off with demure smiles and the batting of her long lashes. She's long been in the hopes that she can escape this place by marrying a foreigner. This might be her chance to get away, and perhaps even marry into money.
She hates this village, thinks it's dying out. She says she doesn't want to die with it like Papa and Mama had.
I frown when I notice her attentions. The lord's son is young enough not to be an old man, but he must still be at least twice my sister's fifteen years. There are fine wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, which give away his age. I watch with disdain as his fingers run down the length of my baby sister's arm in a flirtatious manner. It takes everything I have not to overturn the stewpot into his lap.
I resolve not to leave the two of them alone.
One of the lord's guards stares at me while I serve him. He's pretty, in a rugged sort of way, with a scar down the side of his lips and his dark brooding eyes. But the man feels like one of the mountain bears: hungry. I swear he licks those marred lips when I come closer. It makes me shiver.
While the travelers are in town, I notice that the villagers are much happier. People visiting is always a blessing. Those that come to us from faraway lands leave with our goods and spread the word of our existence. That, in turn, leads to trade. We haven't had a good trading partnership since the plague closed us off to the outside world.
Local artisans—what few remain, anyway—present our fine hand-woven baskets and tanned pelts to the merchant with the young lord. Papa's old friend gifts the visiting noble with iron shoes for his horse and intricate fittings for his weaponry. The Wisewoman supplies the entourage with knitted cloth, dyed using local flowers. I offer one of Papa's old leather satchels. Our valley used to be renowned for the incredible leatherwork we produced. Maybe someday we can become well-known again for other things.
I pray to O-Satoru-sama that this visit will bring prosperity to us. I pray that my sister will not be led astray by a man, and that she will remain at my side where I can keep her safe and warm and loved. Head bowed and eyes closed, I feel a hand ruffle my hair. And I know that when my eyes open, there will be nobody there.
The white cat curls up at my side while I tear away the new growth, gnawing on the bones of his grilled fish.
Once all of the vines have been tossed aside, I clear out the pool. In the heat of summer, I find my haori soaking through quickly with sweat. I frequently run my long sleeves along my forehead to collect the dampness there, but it still drips into my eyes and stings them. Still, I work tirelessly to clean our god's shrine. O-Satoru-sama has few true worshippers left, but I will love him enough for the whole village.
The cat stops munching to bat its paw at the surface of the moonpool. I stop and take a break. The urge to dip my feet into the pool is overwhelming, but I won't run the risk of making our god angry by sullying the scared waters with my unclean body. So instead I crouch at the edge of the spring and let the cool breeze from its surface brush against my skin. The tomcat paws at the hip of my hakama, and I have to carefully push him away lest his claws rend the threadbare fabric.
"Sorry, little guy. No more fish." I show him my empty hands.
The cat almost seems to… scowl at me. As though he understands my words, he shakes his head and pats the top of the water. I blink and my eyes widen in surprise.
"Do… you understand me?!"
The cat's only response is an owlish blink. Yeah… I'm talking to a cat, I think wearily. I must have sun sickness. Or I would if I could get it.
The cat continues playing in the water, and eventually he splashes me.
"Hey! That was freezing!" I get up and try to dry my face with my sleeves. But when I turn around, a firm pressure knocks against my upper back. And I fall into the pool, face first. When my head pops up, there is nothing. But I swear I hear a man's laughter on the breeze.
Did I just get pushed into the sacred pool by O-Satoru-sama himself?! Elder Gakuganji had once said that the god is impish and likes to play pranks, but I'd never been on the receiving end. Until now. I sputter indignantly and try to get out, but a firm paw presses to my forehead. I stare at the cat in confusion. His little white head tilts as he watches me. Then he presses firmer to my forehead as though telling me to 'stay'.
"Am I allowed in here?" I ask God's avatar. The cat meows reassuringly to me.
There's a firm brush of a hand on my shoulders, which comes up to grip the back of my neck gently. I know that if I turn around, there will be nothing, so I let God touch me. Despite the cool of the water, his touch is warm as the summer air, if not warmer still. I close my eyes and bask in the contact.
Then I feel the stirrings of breath on my ear, ruffling the whisps of my hair. I resist the urge to open my eyes, to look at him. I must keep them closed or this will end. Warm lips brush the shell of my ear, and I gasp at the sensation that jolts down my spine. It feels like standing in a lighting storm, the way the hair on my arms and neck raises. And warmth churns in my gut in an unfamiliar sensation that makes me want to rub my thighs together.
O-Satoru-sama's chin rests on my shoulder, his body pressed entirely against the length of me, with his lips against me. It feels like a kiss, with how intimate this hold is. I've never been this close to a mortal man, let alone a god. My god, I think fleetingly, eyelids fluttering with the urge to open them.
We stand there for what feels like hours but must only be minutes.
Then he speaks. His voice rumbles in my head like thunder.
"You're always welcome here, Darling."
And then his touch is gone. I'm alone, body soaked and thrumming in time with my ragged heartbeat. When I shiver, it has nothing to do with the chill of the spring-fed water.
Before me, the cat looks incredibly smug.