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Karasu (烏) - Part 02

It’s part two! Thank you for reading, from the bottom of my heart. It really makes me immeasurably happy when people like my writing.

Previous: Part 1

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Karasu, Part 02

The walk back to the temple was hurried. Nearly a hundred stone steps led up to the entrance of the grounds, each worn with age and lined with moss. Shichi had been expected to return before the evening meal, but most had already entered the dining hall. Only his mentor, one of the elders at the temple, remained outside.

“Ah, there you are,” she said, glancing up from her seat on the wooden stairs. She had been reading scripture by the fading sunlight. “I was beginning to get worried.”

“Master Sagiri,” he replied, bowing his head in apology. “Forgive me, I was distracted.”

“Surely your training all these years would have taught you to focus,” the elder tengu said, though her tone was light.

“I have no excuse. My mind tends to wander when I’m alone.”

“Tell your mind it can wander all it wants during meditation this evening.”

Shichi began to wonder if he was committing a sin by keeping his encounter secret. What would Sagiri say if he told her the truth? He was utterly loyal to the temple, and to his mentor. There was the possibility, however, that she wouldn’t take the news well. Perhaps she would tell him to cast the woman out. He couldn’t take that chance.

“You missed another one of my training sessions, you know,” she continued. “With the naginata. You’re going to have to learn to defend yourself sooner or later.”

“Perhaps if I were not burdened with so many chores,” he began with a smile in his voice.

“Get yourself inside before I decide to burden you even further,” she said, waving her hand towards the door. He bowed once again, then left her to her reading.

His meditation, normally a source of composure in a busy day, was laden with guilt. The feeling was only worsened as he removed a meal’s worth of cooked vegetables from the empty kitchen. The idea of being a thief in his own home was at least eased by the knowledge that he himself had forgone dinner that evening, and that this was simply his uneaten share. When the temple’s residents had bedded for the night he was finally free to step back out into the darkness.

His pace slowed to a stop as he approached the old storehouse. Once again, he questioned his actions and tried to find an alternate course, one which would minimize his contact with this human — not to mention the sneaking around, lying, and stealing. In the end, he remembered what he’d said to her — the promise that he would return. He also found himself concerned for her, wondering if her sprain was still painful or if it had begun to heal. He gathered himself, then opened the door.

What he found was a bit anti-climactic and his posture slumped in disappointment. The woman had fallen asleep, lying curled on the wooden floor. For the first time, he found himself taking a careful look at her features. It was curious, the face of a human. She looked rather peaceful in her rest, her expression soft, yet lonely. Crouching, he removed his outer robe and draped it over her, then set down the wrapped bundle of food. Before he could stand, however, she shifted.

“You came back,” she said, groggily sitting upright.

“I said that I would,” he answered, trying not to look startled. “Didn’t I?”

She smiled, despite his blunt reply, and gave a light nod.

“How does your ankle feel?” he asked, resting his hands on his knees.

“It doesn’t hurt as much,” she said, offering her leg for him to examine. He unfastened the ribbon and removed the wrapped leaves. The root paste had hardened and he wiped it free with a cloth, letting her skin get some air.

“The swelling is minimal,” he said, pleased with his own work. “You should be able to walk by morning.”

They were both silent for a moment, avoiding eye contact amidst the sound of wind creaking through old beams.

“Thank you,” she blurted, forcing her thoughts out before she could change her mind. “I thought I was going to get stuck out there and get eaten by bears and die without-”

“You wouldn’t have died,” Shichi said pleasantly, cutting her off before her morbid fantasy could play out any further. “It was just a sprain. You probably would have just hobbled down the mountain all day and maybe ended up a bit muddy.”

She laughed, though it was awkwardly restrained. It sounded as if she wasn’t sure if laughing was appropriate around him.

“What were you doing up here anyway? The village is quite a walk away.”

“I… I needed a little time to myself. I thought being alone would ease my mind. Who knew rocks would be so difficult to balance on?” she said, trailing off in embarrassment.

“The stream can be treacherous. It’s nearly a half shaku deep in some places,” the tengu replied.

“Ah,” she said with a smile. “You’re being mean to me, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Partly to distract her, and partly to give his hands something to do, he unwrapped the cloth parcel he had brought. Inside was a simple meal of rice, poached plums, and assorted pickled vegetables. There was also a gourd of cool water.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what humans like to eat. Forgive me if it isn’t suitable,” he said with an apologetic bow of his head. The smell of cooked food seemed to perk her attention and she set into it with an almost disturbing vigor. The monk could only blink as he watched her consume the meal and began to wonder if she’d eaten anything at all that day.

“I… suppose it is, then,” he said, his tone dry and muttering.

“I’m surprised you have normal food,” she said. “They always tell children that tengu will eat their eyes.”

Shichi couldn’t hold back his laugh, which was unnaturally loud for the quiet monk.

“It’s not true, then?” she asked, setting the gourd down after a long drink.

“I… ah, we only eat what we grow,” he said, his voice still unsteady from the laughter. “Though now you have me wondering what eyes taste like.”

It was at this inopportune moment that his stomach decided to voice its hunger, interrupting his words with a whine. She paused before taking another bite, then glanced down at the food before her.

“Is this… your dinner?” she asked with hesitation.

“No, it’s yours,” he said helplessly. “You’ve had a long day.”

The woman pouted with disappointment and before he knew it, half of the meal had been separated and placed before him on the floor.

“So did you,” she said, sliding the small wooden bowl forward. Shichi wasn’t sure what to say and could only look down at the offering with reluctance.

“You’ve already been kind enough,” she added. “Please don’t go hungry for my sake.”

“Very well,” he finally said, giving her a nod as he picked up the bowl. It was unexpected, this human behavior. It didn’t fit what he’d been warned about all these years — of humans being bloodthirsty and selfish. Then again, she had been told that tengu would eat children’s eyes. It was likely that many of their stories were exaggerated, to say the least.

Though Shichi was used to eating in silence, the woman continued to talk. He supposed it would be too much to expect the manners of a monk from a villager. Additionally, he truly was curious about her and what she had to say.

“Is it true that you can possess women?” she asked, her eyes wide like a child’s.

“I don’t know, I’ve never tried,” he admitted. He then stared at her with very firm intention, as if concentrating on some kind of spell. After a moment his expression fell with disappointment. “No, I suppose not.”

“You’re not at all like the stories,” she said. A smile lingered on her face as she spoke.

“Neither are you.”

The two considered each other until she looked away, rubbing the side of her neck.

“What… what is your name?” she finally asked, daring to return her eyes to his.

“Shichi. And yours?”

“Kana.”

“I’m glad to have met you, Kana,” he said. “Until now I thought most humans were heartless.”

“Well, in truth…,” she began, her voice low with discomfort. Shichi’s head tilted curiously, wondering if she was actually about to correct him. Her voice faded, however, and her sentence died just as quickly as it had started.

“Thank you, again,” Kana said, bowing her head gratefully. “For the food, and for taking care of me.”

“Of course. I’m happy to help,” he replied, gathering up the empty dishes. “I should return, though. The morning bell rings before dawn.”

“Here, your robe,” she said, pulling the dark fabric from around her shoulders.

“Keep it for the night. It may get cold.”

As he left the storage shed with the bundle of used tableware in his arms, his guilt was forgotten. No longer did he question his choice, nor did he notice the chill of the night air as he made his way back to the temple.

The next morning’s meditation seemed to take longer than usual. After cleaning the hallway floors, hauling firewood, and grinding dried roots for their stock of herbs, the sun was high and proud in the sky. Shichi finally found a spare moment to gather a pouch of fruit, making his way down the endless steps and along the side of the mountain towards the shed. During his work he had thought of more questions to ask her about her life, and about humans in general. He was fixedly guessing exactly which fruits she would prefer when the door opened to an empty room.

His eyes fell on his robe, which had been folded neatly and left on the floor. It was then he remembered that her ankle had probably healed. She must have gone back to the village. Oddly, he felt disappointed. Just the previous day he had wished terribly for her departure, and now the sight of the empty shed grounded his floating mood.

From the corner of his eye, Shichi noticed the discarded white ribbon that had served as a bandage. Crouching, he picked it up and ran it through his fingers. It was good that she had healed. She belonged in the village, and now things could return to normal.

Seating himself, he untied the cloth he’d carried in and removed a peach. Even as he sat in relief, no longer burdened by guilt, he couldn’t help but wonder if she liked peaches, too.