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Karasu (烏) - Part 15

Parts of this was inspired by questions people have asked me about the lore. I’m really honored when you guys ask me about the story or characters, or really just any comments at all. Thank you so, so much.

Full Story: Chapter List

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Karasu, Part 15

“Mother, father… I want to study.”

Shichi’s parents looked up from their meals simultaneously, staring at the young tengu with apprehension. It was his clutch sister, however, who spoke up first.

“Why?” she asked, though her attention was still on her food. She ate another piece of sweet potato before looking expectantly at her brother.

“Why?” Shichi repeated, unable to grasp the implication in her question. “Why wouldn’t I? Why wouldn’t anyone?”

“Because it’s boring,” she replied.

“Nana, don’t talk and eat at the same time,” their mother scolded, then turned her attention back to her son. “Shichi, you’re already studying. You attend Otomaru’s lessons every day.”

“I know. But I… I feel like there’s so much more to learn. There are only five books in the village and—”

“You’ve read them a hundred times,” interrupted his elder sister, Fuu. “We know.”

“I want to join a temple. I want to be part of something.”

His parents were silent for a moment before his father finally sighed.

“It’s good that you’re ambitious. We really do think so,” he said. “But it’s a bit early to be making that kind of decision. You’re only twelve…”

“I’m twelve, too!” Nana protested, finally setting her spoon down.

“You can’t even decide what to wear in the morning,” Shichi snapped back at her.

“You’re not helping your case,” his mother said, rubbing her forehead. After a moment, she let her eyes fall back onto her only son. Shichi — still so young, who already wanted to leave home.

“Joining a temple is a lifelong commitment,” she reminded him.

“I understand,” he said, looking down at his meal. “That’s why I want to start now.”

“Don’t you think you’ll feel lonely?” Fuu asked. “You’ve never been away from us before.”

“Shusei wants to go, too. It wouldn’t be so bad if we went together.”

His parents looked at one another. Though they were hesitant, his request had been no surprise. He had shown signs of dissatisfaction for years. Each time a tengu traveled outside of the village, he would bombard them with questions upon their return. He had jumped at every chance to visit a temple and would regard visiting monks with awe.

“Maybe you should let him go,” Fuu shrugged. “He’s not very good at weaving, anyway.”

“He’s just fine at weaving,” their mother said, defending him in spite of the truth. For a while, the table was silent. Shichi looked from one parent to another, then back down at his hands. He had felt rather determined just minutes ago, but could now feel his hope sinking.

“We’ll think about it. For now, you’ll continue studying with Otomaru,” his mother said, making sure her voice was stern.

“Really?” he asked, glancing up with bright eyes.

“That’s not a ‘yes,’ understand?” his father insisted, attempting to match his wife’s rigidity. Despite being the shortest in the entire family, she had a much more powerful presence than he.

Shichi nodded vigorously, grateful for even a chance to have his wish granted.

“Good. Now clear the table for tea.”

Tea.

What Shichi wouldn’t have given for a cup of tea.  For the past week he had eaten only pine bark and handfuls of zenmai shoots. The injury to Zaisei’s dog had slowed the hunter considerably, giving Shichi time to distance himself. Unfortunately, winter had come rather quickly that year. The greenery had already dried and fallen, leaving him with few options for food. The ridges of his ribs had begun to protrude and the flesh over his joints was tight and thin. Both his hunger and the wound on his leg had weakened him, but he continued to press on.

The sky was heavy and gray that afternoon. Rain peppered his body as he walked, still carrying a slight limp. His clothing stuck to his feathers, chilling him down to the marrow in his bones. Nothing about this forest was familiar; the river was long gone. He had made his best attempt to avoid a predictable path — this had proven to be a bad idea. He knew, as difficult as it was to admit to himself, that he was lost.

He was beginning to wonder if he had passed through that particular glade before when something caught his eye — something bright and beckoning against the hazy sky. There was a persimmon tree at the edge of the clearing. Its leaves had already gone, exposing the last surviving fruits near the highest branches. They were a honeyed orange, their skin glistening with raindrops. He imagined how they must taste — sweet and soft, bruising with the slightest touch. His stomach wrenched as approached the tree, awakened by the sight of them.

Since his calf had been shredded by the dog’s formidable jaws, he had avoided climbing trees. Even the simple act of walking had agitated the wound, causing it to throb and ache, slowing the healing process down in spite of his herbal poultice. If there was any tree in the forest worth climbing, however, it was this one.

His claws gripped the slick bark, pulling himself up the trunk. The tree wasn’t very thick, giving him little to hold onto as he climbed. His injured leg hung uselessly, forcing him to put more power into his arms. Soon, he had positioned himself between two boughs, reaching upwards for the nearest fruit. His fingers swatted the air, painfully close to his prize. Furrowing his brow, he shifted higher, his foot tiptoeing on the branch. Suddenly, he lost his grip on the wet surface, sliding back down a few inches. His claws dragged over the bough, promptly stopping him in place.

For a moment, Shichi closed his eyes. Once again, his stomach twisted, reminding him that this wasn’t a choice. Looking up once more, he made another attempt to reach up. He moved closer, the tips of his nails brushing the skin of the persimmon, causing it to sway. He took a breath, stretching himself as far as he could go.

It was then that he lost his balance. His leg crumpled as he fell back onto it and he hit the ground with a wet crack. He immediately cried out in pain, curling as he felt his shoulder dislocate. The joint snapped out of its socket, searing his nerves and forcing out an agonized groan.

He couldn’t take it anymore. Tears formed at the corners of his eyes and he shouted his frustration to the empty glade. He had spent so long suppressing his anger, his loneliness — his repeated failures and ineptitude. He wanted to be home. He wanted to eat his mother’s cooking — to hear Kana’s laugh. He wanted to listen to Sagiri scold him about not cleaning the floors properly.

The muscles in his shoulder contracted as his body locked up in panic. His breathing intensified, coming forth in visible puffs against the cold air. He knew better — he knew that he should relax, that tightening the muscle would only make it worse. He knew that he should be resetting the bone immediately to minimize long-term damage. He couldn’t, however, force himself to care. The persimmons dotted the sky above his head, mocking him with their tender, dew-covered skin. He groaned again, cursing both himself and the fruit.

It was at that moment of utter defeat when a single, overripe persimmon decided that it was through with life in trees. It fell straight from the branch, bouncing from Shichi’s forehead onto the wet grass below.

“Agh!”

His good arm lifted, touching his hand to the spot where he’d been hit. Part of the soft pulp had stuck to his temple, dripping over his eye in an impassive glob. He reached back, picking up the damaged persimmon to examine. Its skin had been split by the impact, exposing its fleshy interior. As he stared at it, a strange feeling overcame him. His chest shivered and, before he knew it, he had burst into laughter.

He lay laughing for quite some time, still trying to catch his breath as he shook. He forgot about the pain in his shoulder. Nothing seemed significant anymore — not the rain, nor his wounded leg. The only thing he could think of was the mushy fruit in his hand and the pulp on his face — how both he and the persimmon had fallen from the same tree, how they had both become a helpless mess upon hitting the ground. How ridiculous he must have looked lying crooked and spattered on the wet soil. He hadn’t laughed in a very long time. All of the happiness that had been bottled deep inside had suddenly been released, coming forth with no control or shame.

By the time he calmed himself, the pain had become bearable. His breath came in slower, deeper pants as he wiped the pulp from his eye. He eased himself up, letting his arm hang limply at his side. Before doing anything else, he had to reset the bone. It was much easier to do so with assistance, but the only company he had in the clearing was the damnable persimmon tree.

Gingerly, he bent his arm, placing his palm flat on the trunk. His eyes shut tightly as he reminded himself to remain calm. The more tense he was, the more difficult this would be. He rotated his body, wincing as he felt the stretch of torn ligaments. Fighting a shiver, he turned further, easing the bone back into its socket. With a sudden gasp, he felt it pop back into place.

Cradling his arm, he slid back down to the ground. For a while, all he could do was breathe. Though he had properly set the bone, his shoulder would need months to heal. Climbing trees was out of the question. Wearily, he picked up the remains of the fallen persimmon, turning it over in his hand. There was still a fair amount of fruit intact. Brushing off a bit of grass, he took a bite. Color and flavor rushed forth — the sweet, succulent texture was better than he could ever remember from a persimmon. His eyes closed as he focused on the taste. Though he hadn’t succeeded in plucking it from the tree, he still felt as if he had earned it.

By the next day, the rain had turned to snow. It covered the landscape in a sheet of white — clean and untouched. Shichi trudged through it as he traveled. Instead of footprints, he left a drifting trail of heel-scrapes and trips. His body was using more energy to stay warm. The shivering had left him drained, almost too tired to gather bark. He stopped at an old, fallen tree, using his claw points to cut through the rough outer layer. This was peeled off to reveal the softer, cream-colored bark below. By then, he had grown used to the bland, dusty taste. Though it was enough to keep him alive, he continued to grow thinner with each day.

Two more days passed before he had stopped feeling hungry. His stomach had given up on its protests, coming to accept the fact that there was simply no food. The temple’s mountain had been lush, always laden with herbs, roots, and fruit trees. This forest was barren in comparison, covered in miles of stark pine and dead grass. As he rubbed his arm for warmth, he noticed feathers coming loose in his hand. The sight startled him — feathers normally only molted in the summer. Averting his eyes, he let them drift down to the snow before moving on.

Eventually, his body started to consume itself. Muscle began to disappear. He ached from his core, but no longer noticed the pain. He had forgotten where he was going and why he was running. He could no longer recall why it was so important for him to continue. He stopped at the base of a tree, collapsing to his knees. His head swayed for a moment and he steadied himself with a hand on the trunk. Shichi glanced up at the snow as it fell, his eyes glazed and heavy. More than anything, he wanted to sleep. The thought of closing his eyes in a warm bed seemed heavenly. To rest for days, or weeks — even forever. It would be pure bliss.

Shichi went limp against the tree. His eyes shut, allowing him a few precious moments of peace. He tried desperately to remember what he was doing and what he had left behind. He wondered why his heart was so heavy. Then, he thought of Kana.

He recalled a day much like this one. Flakes of snow had filled the sky, coating the trees with white. She had met him by the storehouse, tucking a flower into the collar of his robe. It was a bloom of witch hazel, one of the few flowers that blossomed in winter.

“What’s this for?” he had asked, looking down at the yellow, twisted petals.

“It fell from a tree on the path,” she explained. “Humans like to give flowers to show they love someone. Well, usually men do…”

“I see,” he replied, trying not to show just how pleased he was. “Tengu give gifts, too. Ah, if they can’t sing well enough.”

“Sing? Really? Will you sing for me?” Kana asked, taking both of his hands.

“Absolutely not,” he answered, looking away from her pleading eyes. Normally he hated to deny her anything, but even he had limits.

“So then, you don’t love me?” she said, her mouth flattening to a displeased line. Kana narrowed her eyes to a glare, leaning in closer to show him just how disappointed she was.

“Of course I love you,” he insisted. “I’m just not a very good singer.”

“Could you say that again?”

“I’m just not a very good—”

“No, the first part,” Kana corrected.

“Of course I love you,” he said, rubbing the side of his neck.

“I love you, too,” she said, kissing him between the eyes before letting him go. He watched her go inside the storehouse, momentarily forgetting himself.

“Ah, so does that mean I don’t have to sing for you?” he asked hopefully as he followed her inside.

“No.”

The crunching of snow brought him out of his daydream. He could hear the step of boots and the soft panting of a dog. Slowly, his eyes opened, looking up to see Zaisei and his pet standing before him.

At first, they were both silent, simply watching one another amidst the falling snow. Zaisei’s expression was one of quiet disappointment. The dog still wore the splint on its front leg — this relieved Shichi, who had been worried that the hunter would remove it in an act of pride.

“Are you going to kill me?” Shichi finally asked, his voice dry from disuse.

“I can’t kill something that’s already dying,” the hunter replied. There was a bitterness in his tone, as if he had been robbed of something. He shuffled with a satchel at his waist, untying it before tossing it down to the tengu’s feet. The cover hung open, revealing the cache of dried mushrooms and gourd strips inside.

“When you regain your strength, you will use every last bit of it to give me a good chase,” Zaisei said, his eyes dark as he spoke. “So that I may kill you the proper way.”

Shichi couldn’t think of anything to say. He stared at the bag, then back up at the hunter who had given it to him. The words were clear, but he was having trouble putting them together in his head.

“And I will kill you. Do you understand?” Zaisei continued. After a minute, Shichi gave a slow nod. The hunter accepted his response, exhaling into the cold air as he turned around the leave. The dog followed after, leaving the tengu alone on the forest floor. Shichi watched them disappear into the trees. As his eyes fell back on the satchel of food, he found that he could suddenly remember why he was traveling, and exactly where he needed to go.

De jisuk - Source

14mai2013