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Karasu (烏) - Part 09

I’m sorry that it took me so long to finish this. I was in Kyoto for almost a week! I didn’t have much time to make a drawing for this one so here is the rough sketch for the temple symbol. 

Previous: Part 8

Beginning: Part 1

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Karasu, Part 09

The next morning came quietly. The snow had turned to rain, falling in light droplets over the forest floor. It was the first time in many years that Shichi had not risen to the sound of a bell. Any hopes that the previous day had been a dream were dashed as he felt the fresh stitches running up the length of his body. Sagiri had not slept, having spent the night tending to her apprentice’s wounds and keeping watch on their surroundings. Without a word, she led him back down to the ground and gestured for him to follow.

Shichi didn’t know what to say as he walked behind her through the snow. They had both lost their home and companions, barely making it through alive, all because of his actions — because of his lies. She had warned him repeatedly of what might happen. She had told him that this, exactly this, would come — that everything they knew might be destroyed. Even so, he had continued to think only of himself. He knew, as he followed her deep footprints, that there was nothing to say. No excuse or apology had any place between them now.

More than the pain from his gash, the bruises or exhaustion, he ached in his heart. Sagiri had also chosen not to speak. He wished that she would — that she would berate and curse him, that she would acknowledge his shame with well-deserved words. Instead, she moved forward without a sound, allowing the guilt in his chest to fester and burn.

When he took a moment to take notice of his surroundings, he realized the direction they were headed in. It was the path back to the temple. Shichi picked up his head, opening his beak to ask, then thought better of it. He was in no place to question her actions. If it hadn’t been for Sagiri’s decisions, he would have died at the base of the hollow tree. He lowered his head once more, ignoring the soreness in his legs to match her pace.

Soon, they found the outskirts of the temple grounds. The more each black, crumbling structure came into view, the more Shichi could feel himself sinking. Most of the paneling was gone, the roofs having collapsed in on their own weight. Walls of smoke rose from the remains of each building, still curling upwards in spite of the rain. There were pools of water scattered over the landscape, many dark with the color of ash and blood. The sight of blood made Shichi remember exactly what had happened the previous night — how the other monks had been trapped inside the meditation hall. The urge to look for survivors overcame his weak limbs and he hurried forward with intention.

His path, however, was suddenly blocked by the length of Sagiri’s naginata. He glanced down at the weapon in front of him, then sideways towards the older tengu. Her attention was locked forward — she was listening. Shichi waited for a moment, but didn’t hear anything.

“They may have left some men to see if we would return,” she said, her voice low as she continued to listen. Shichi realized that, once again, he had been careless. They moved forward along the side of a charred beam, alert as they stepped over the wet earth. His attention was caught by a body lying prone near what was left of the bathhouse. As Sagiri continued, Shichi knelt to examine the fallen monk. She had no pulse, having died quickly from the severity of her wounds. Droplets fell gently over their forms as he closed her eyes with his palm. He slumped next to the body, watching over her for a moment. Taking her hand into his own, he found himself wishing he could apologize to her — wishing that she could understand just how sorry he was.

The clang of metal snapped his attention forward. He glanced up in time to see Sagiri’s weapon deftly blocking a human’s blade, then twisting to deflect the man behind her. There were two human soldiers, both equipped with swords as they positioned themselves at either side of the tengu. Shichi rushed forward, momentarily forgetting that he was neither armed nor capable of fighting.

“Stay back,” she snapped at him as she knocked a katana blade aside. He froze in position, recognizing that he would be of absolutely no use to her in a battle; if anything, he would only act as a burden. The men looked momentarily in his direction, but their attention was quickly snatched back as she swiped her blade towards their heels. The first dodged forward just in time, while the other toppled as his ankle was sliced open. He fell to his side, now useless as he bit back a pained scream.

Now on his own, the remaining soldier focused on Sagiri, angling his sword with both hands. Shichi could only stare as the the man circled his target, waiting for an opening. The rain grew heavier, darkening their clothes and leaving trails down their exposed faces.

There was a flash of movement as the soldier darted forward, droplets flying from his blade as he swung it forward in an arc. Sagiri’s shoulders turned in a snap as she pounded the handle directly on the back of his skull. The wood was strong enough to send a crack through the air and the man’s body hit the muddy ground with a thud. The first soldier groaned as he struggled to stand, but Sagiri only stepped over his body on her way.

“Come,” she said to Shichi, not looking back as she approached the ruins of the meditation hall. He hurried after her, trying not to look at the subdued humans as he passed.

When Shichi caught up to her at the entrance of the hall, she was gazing inside motionlessly. Her stillness could only mean one thing, and it made his chest tighten with fear. As he came closer, she held out her hand to stop him. After a moment he realized what Sagiri was doing — she didn’t want him to see what was inside. She knew what it would do to him, not only in that moment, but for the the entirety of his life. Despite her wishes, he pushed her hand aside and moved forward.

The instant he looked in, his breath left him. His body forgot how to function, stopping him in his tracks as his eyes fell on the scene that lay before him. The color of blackened bone embedded itself in his mind as he dropped to his knees, unable to blink, unable to speak. Both hands went to his forehead as he curled forward, his clothes staining with ash. When he found his breath, it came forth in a shudder, unsteady as he clenched his own face.

“Shichi,” came a murmur from ahead, dry and faint as it reached his ears. Slowly, he looked up, unsure if he had heard a voice, or simply his own conscience. When he noticed the slight movement of a body he scrambled up, hurrying over to the source of the voice.

“Shusei,” he whispered in return, pushing aside a fallen pillar to reveal his friend beneath the rubble. Most of his feathers had been burnt, leaving him with patches of reddened flesh. Shichi’s momentary elation faded as he realized that there was no hope of survival. His burns were too severe; there was nothing he could do.

“You made it,” Shusei said softly, extending his scarred hand. Shichi took it in his own, holding tightly as he leaned in closer.

“It shouldn’t have been me,” Shichi said, his voice barely audible. He could feel Shusei squeeze his hand more tightly.

“Don’t say that. You have so much to offer the world,” Shusei said, putting forth great effort with each word. “I shouldn’t have teased you about your acupuncture… you’re a very good healer.”

“I’m so sorry, Shusei,” he replied, his hand shaking in the other monk’s grasp. “I can’t heal you this time.”

Shichi swallowed.

“It’s my fault,” he added, lowering his head.

There was a silence as Shusei took in a breath, using the last of his energy to continue speaking.

“No… I know you would never do that,” he whispered, closing his eyes. “Even if you said you did.”

“Shusei…”

“You would never hurt anyone, would you?” Shusei said, his voice no louder than a sigh. A moment later, his hand went limp in Shichi’s grasp.

“I’m sorry,” Shichi said, his head dropping down onto his friend’s chest. Though the other was gone, his hold on Shusei’s hand didn’t relent, only tightening as he wept into the burnt cloth. “I’m so sorry.”

He sat huddled over the other monk’s body for a long time, having come too late to protect him, too late to truly apologize. He didn’t notice as Sagiri settled down beside him, only becoming aware of her presence when she placed a hand on his shoulder. Hesitantly, he glanced up at her. Instead of the disappointment or scorn that he expected, there was only a quiet sadness in her eyes. Without a word, she pulled her student into her arms, saying everything that she needed with the strength of her embrace.