Yokai

Chapter 4: 

Great waves of the Chosun Sea crashed onto the shoreline. Dark sand was unsettled each time a giant white wave smashed into the craggy shoreline. An unnatural cold swept in, not from the mountains just south of the beach, but from the ocean itself. Mitikori’s long straw cloak bounced and shuddered in the gale. Yamagiri kept true to its name. A low fog spread out from the city onto the beach. It was quickly blown away by the wind when the ominous mist reached the water. Mitikori watched the foam crash and break. A storm had blown in from the western sea, bringing with it the bones of many great bakekujira, the whale spirits of the north. No umi bōzu as the lord of Aoyama had mentioned. Mitikori’s narrow eyes stared out at the dark waves. A dark cloud had hung over Yamagiri since dawn. Perhaps there would be no sunrise today. 

After wandering on the rocky beach, the Ronshin returned to the port village. It was small in size, just a few palisade walls built into the long black sandbar. A few houses adorned the beach, with a wide space for docking whaling vessels on a rocky steppe. The great beasts would be hauled onto the shore, where the village would strip them clean before the rot set in. The air was unnaturally chilly for the season. Mitikori had even noticed flakes of snow falling. This land was cursed. The Ronshin just didn't know what was causing it. Fujimoto-san, as the whaler was known in this town, had created a small fire under an outcropping of tall rocks. Mitikori joined him by the blaze. 

“I dragged you out here, but I now advise against whaling,” The Ronshin spoke. 

“With this unnatural chill, I doubt I could get anyone to do any whaling.” 

“Lord Aoyama spoke of a dead umi bōzu.” Mitikori hunched down by the meager fire. It barely brought any warmth to his wrapped hands. 

“Local superstition. If it was true, these amikiri would have harvested the thing.” The whaler pointed to the palisade village at the end of the beach. 

“These lands are cursed. There is no denying it; some great death is coming.” 

“Just bad weather, Ronshin. You should be more worried about the living. My friends in Yamagiri tell me a woman by the name of Yoshida is looking for you.” 

“Yoshida?”

“You know her?” 

“I doubt it," Mitikori lied. He looked at the crashing waves again. Perhaps it was just the bad weather, but if Yoshida was involved it meant he was cursed.

Akiko Yoshida was the emperor Haruki Amagawa’s greatest scholar of Yokai. A brilliant lecturer, she had written thousands of collections about the strange apparitions. Akiko traveled headlong far and wide to find anything she could about the yokai. Which is why Mitikori often had to save her. Her peerless knowledge of the yokai was matched only by her complete lack of directional awareness. The two had traveled together many times, before her seclusion at Tsurugi-jo. It had been eight years since she'd begun her research there and from what Mitikori had heard, she wasn't allowed to leave.

Fujimoto must have misheard the name, Mitikori assumed, but as he walked inside the only inn in Yamagiri, the familiar persimmon perfume tried to cover over the stench of fish guts. Mitikori stood in the doorway, looking at the scholar. She was nearing the middle of her third decade. Pale skin, that could only be acquired in the depths of a library, was contrasted by her jet black hair. It was parted neatly to keep her vision unburdened. The dark black bang ran down to her cheeks, which were flat and thin. Her nose was pointed and stately. Her smooth, unadorned lips were the color of newly-ripe peaches. Akiko peered through a circle of glass at the parchments laid before her. Even now, she couldn’t be separated from her work. Mitikori did notice sweat on her forehead. Bits of her hair were sticking to her pale skin. Yoshida did not speak as the Ronshin entered. The innkeep nodded to Mitikori. 

“Fujimoto-san said you would be coming. The lady Yoshida bought you both drinks.” 

“Hopefully it’s not just tea.” 

“And what is wrong with tea?” Yoshida’s voice was snappy. She seemed in an ill mood. Unlike her. Mitikori knew the scholar should be overjoyed to find such fresh bones from her favorite bakekujira. 

“This far from the southlands, the tea is dry wheat unfit for bread.” 

“I certainly hope not,” The innkeeper interjected by bringing the tray with two steaming cups on it. He bowed, leaving it on the chabudai. Mitikori sat at the low table, taking in the aroma of persimmon and wheat tea. Yoshida looked across at Mitikori. Her wide brown eyes held pity in them. It quickly dispersed as Mitikori set one of the wooden boxes from his pack on the table. 

“A gift?” Yoshida adjusted the short sleeves of her emerald green hitoe. The lighter kimono was imperial work. Fine silk had been woven to make a dress that was both comfortable to travel in and heavy enough to protect from the elements. 

“Tea from an imperial lady must be answered with a gift, isn’t that custom?” 

“Only for courting, and you and I, Mitikori, are far more familiar than courting.” Mitikori smiled at the familiar memories of her persimmon scented hair. 

“Then do you still take gifts from old lovers?” 

“Only one.” Anticipation getting the best of her, Yoshida took the box. She opened it to find a small nest of moss and leaves with a gently glowing green kodama. Her eyes illuminated with color, much to the satisfaction of Mitikori. He tried to keep his smile hidden as she began to coo, “Such a small one! Such lovely color! He’s quite healthy, Mitikori.” Slowly, her sensibility began to return, “Should he be so far from his forest?” 

“The emperor’s men were busy using the yokai of Aoyama forest as target practice. I thought he wouldn’t enjoy all the noise.” Upon hearing the news, Yoshida smiled happily. She held the small green yokai in her palms. His green glow brought some color to her otherwise cold skin. Carefully, Yoshida set the small forest child into the box again. 

“Mitikori it’s not chance that we met here–,” 

“I know how fate works. Lovers of old are often brought back to each other.” 

“No, Kotoba–,” 

“Come with me, Akiko. I want to give this kodama a home here in the mountains. Will you help me speak with the forest spirits?” Fear clouded the edges of Yoshida’s vision. She nodded, though, pushing her notes into a leather bag. 

Yoshida held tightly onto Mitikori’s kimono as the two ascended the mountain. There was a short walk over the sandy clearing, then the rugged volcanic mountain blocked their view. The day was still unnaturally overcast. The smell of persimmon was slowly being lost to the wind. As the pair climbed, Mitikori noticed the first Shimenawa ropes. They were white with a touch of gold, likely from the wheat fields that abounded below in the plains. Yoshida stopped for a moment. She took a bottle of sake from her leather bag. She poured out the fine smelling liquor before one of the larger Shimenawa trees. The stream of perfectly clear sake stopped just as the clay bottle would be emptied. Yoshida turned to Mitikori, running her peach-colored lips gently on the top. Mitikori took the now embellished drink and took a sip. Fine melon sake. The taste cleared his throat of the wheat tea. 

“I’m afraid this is all the hospitality I can offer for now.” 

“I’m told kissing before the kami can bring either great curses or blessings,” Mitikori remarked as he smelled the last bit of persimmon on the cup. 

“Is this the place for the kodama?” Yoshida changed the subject despite a natural bit of blush showing on her unadorned face. 

“No, we should go deeper.” 

Yoshida followed the Ronshin into the mountain forest. Tree roots grew over and through the black volcanic rock. The light from the Shimenawa helped to clear some of the gloom, but it only further proved Mitikori’s theory. This coast was cursed. The mountain path weaved its way up the narrow trails. Bird’s song was faint but audible over the crashing waves. Mitikori reached a cliff overlooking the waves. Far, far out at sea, he made out the shapes of islands. It was something closer, however, that caught his full attention. 

“A Kamegaki Sen!” Mitikori announced. The turtle-shaped boat was overturned, being lashed by the waves. Yoshida stepped up beside the taller Ronshin. She had found her kaienkyō. The ornate telescope clicked as Yoshida adjusted the view. 

“All dead. It was attacked at sea.” Yoshida sounded shocked. She passed the kaienkyō to Mitikori. Sure enough, all the Chosun sailors were dead. Seems they’d been unable to even put up a fight. Their bloody and marred corpses weren’t even adorned with armor. “The same beast that killed the umi bōzu.”

“So it’s true?” 

“Yes, I came here myself because of it. First to see if the rumors were true, and then to try and find a way to break this curse.” 

“What was it?” Mitikori handed the telescope back. Yoshida placed it in the bag, keeping her eyes on the wreckage. 

“I don’t know. Not even a great Akkorokamui would attack an umi bōzu.” 

“Perhaps it was provoked?” Mitikori offered. 

“The last Akkorokamui was killed far to the north nearly a thousand years ago. I’ve never heard any rumors of another. Besides, Akkorokamui wouldn’t journey this far south. The whales are in the perfect season north of Yamashima.” Mitikori couldn’t argue with her much more refined assessment. If it was an Akkorokamui, why was it leaving all the bodies? 

Mitikori found the right clearing for the kodama. Far enough away from the sea, the trees became calmer. Their sturdy roots and bulbous bodies were signs of a healthy and safe environment. In the center of the clearing was a great oak. Its gnarled truck was covered in Shimenawa reaching up to its first branches some five shaku above the ground. Yoshida knelt before the great tree. A breeze carried the scent of summer honey. Yoshida didn’t lift her head, but she began to speak in an ancient language of the kami. Her voice was melodious. If she hadn’t been so destined for academics, Mitikori would have recommended being a songstress. Finally, she stopped. The mountain glade was silent. Then, other slightly bluish-hued kodama began to appear. Mitikori looked at the plump little kodama. They were smaller than their hill-forest brothers. Each stood only about an ankle high. 

“They’re blue,” Mitikori remarked. 

“Forest children this far north take on the coloring of the ocean sky,” Yoshida explained. Her voice carried a scholarly tone, like she was speaking with a student rather than a peer. Mitikori smiled. 

“Why the coloring?” 

“It is thought that the forest kami near Yamashida are connected with the Kamuy of the northern island. The Yamashida Kamuy are from the great heavens above rather than the ocean kingdom.” Yoshida stood up, brushing her skirt clean. “Someday, I would love to see the island Kamuy for myself.” 

“Is the ritual finished?” 

“I have raised a petition to the god of this mountain. He seems quiet. Perhaps the storm is keeping him away.” 

“Let’s ask his children.” Mitikori knelt before the azure kodama. He set the box down before the tiny forest children. They all began to clamor around. Some hid behind their larger brothers. Small ya’s of fear and excitement brought a smile to Mitikori’s face. Yoshida placed her silky fingers onto the Ronshin’s neck. They rested for a moment before she began to play gently with his long black hair. In a flourish, Mitikori released the plains kodama. The little green yokai rubbed its eyes sleepily. Realizing it had company, the small forest child bobbled upright. The blue kodama stared blankly at the green newcomer. 

Yoshida whispered something to the winds. The leaves blew past in a whirl. Then the blue kodama began to cheer. Their new green brother stepped out of the box pulled towards the great oak by a happy entourage. He began to make happy shouts of his own. The kodama clamored up to the rope and sat down, smiling happily. 

“Surely the forest will forgive us for one kiss,” Yoshida seemed lost in the moment. Her brown eyes watched the leaves roll across the glade as the happy forest children sang a joyful song.

“Best not to test him,” Mitikori said, smirking. He began to walk past the scholar. Yoshida turned her erudite eyes to the leaving yokai hunter. Blush was her best color—the shade of her favorite persimmons, Mitikori thought. Before she could protest, Mitikori brushed his lips against hers. Just for a moment, a kiss slipped between the two of them. Then the yokai hunter was gone. Heading down the mountain again.