Dragon Sword and Wind Child (28 page)

When Lord Akitsu came in search of her, she was still sitting there. She saw him approach and knew from his somber expression that he had guessed all that had transpired. For the first time, tears traced their way down her cheeks.

“Why are they so cruel, these gods we worship? Why? Why must we fight for such gods as these?”

Lord Akitsu replied as though meditating on each word. “Cruelty is one aspect of all gods. But it is not the only one. Originally, the gods were loving and beautiful. These traits were twisted by the Light.”

“I don't understand it. I don't believe it.” Saya shook her head. “I hate the god who killed Masaki. I'm glad that Chihaya destroyed it.”

He looked down at her, his face full of pain. “Do you really think so, Saya? If so, then wait one year. Wait and then come again to this spot. You'll find a totally different scene, a wasteland spreading out before you. Never again will this land bear fruit. Never again will flowers bloom. For the land has lost its spirit. Land that isn't nurtured by the gods of the earth lacks the breath of life.”

“Really?” Saya whispered. But she could not comprehend it. All she could think of was Natsume's unborn child.

WHEN
she returned to the camp, Saya was stricken with fever and remained bedridden for several days. In her delirium, she was plagued by dreams, but the one that troubled her most was her old childhood nightmare, which, though she had not seen it for some time, had lost none of its terror. Again and again, she saw the whiterobed priestess turning . . . It did not help to tell herself that it was Chihaya. Fear rose in her throat and she sank into despair, for what was done could not be undone.

If only I hadn't looked at her face,
she thought over and over in her feverish rambling.
If only I hadn't looked.

Finally one morning she awoke to sunlight. She felt like she was waking for the first time in a very long while, as if a mist in front of her had cleared. It was almost noon, and the honey-colored sunlight poured through a small window high above. A man loomed beside her, as big as a bear, blocking the light. Although he had hunched himself over as far as possible, his bulk still threatened to burst the tiny hut asunder. Looking at him, Saya smiled weakly.

“Lord Ibuki. So you reached us safely, then.”

“Yes, many days ago,” he replied in a thick rumbling voice, although for him this was an attempt to speak softly and quietly. “It seems your fever has passed. That's good. Very good.”

“Surely it's thanks to the herbs that your lordship found for us,” Natsume said gratefully. As always, she worked diligently, neither secluding herself nor wearing mourning clothes. Saya would almost have preferred her to weep or rage than to nurse her so devotedly, but Natsume never allowed a single tear to show in front of Saya.

“I'm actually an expert at tracking down medicinal herbs. I find them where no one would expect.” Lord Ibuki patted his chest proudly with a large, heavy hand, although a less likely hand for plucking the slender stalks of herbs growing in rock crevices would have been hard to imagine.

“Well, well. Wild pinks,” he remarked, noticing the bouquet in Natsume's hand. “You did a good job collecting those.”

Natsume smiled meaningfully and glanced down at the pale pink flowers with their notched petals. “I didn't pick them. I don't know who it could be, but someone has sent flowers every day since my lady fell ill.”

Lord Ibuki gave her a strange look. “You don't know who it is, when the man who just left is one of Lord Shinado's servants?”

“Oh, really?” Natsume feigned ignorance.

“What's this? What's this?” Lord Ibuki roared in his normal voice. “The devil! Who would have guessed from his looks that he was such a simple-hearted—” Seeing the two girls staring at him, he stopped himself hastily. “Well, now. That's just between him and me.”

Saya looked at the bouquet of gentians brought yesterday. The flowers were still a fresh blue. Her thoughts unconsciously returned to the field of wild roses she had once seen.

Even though he saw an entire field covered with flowers, Chihaya
never thought to pick them,
she thought.
Instead, he took me to see
the place where they were blooming.

“What happened to Chihaya?” Her question was so sudden that Natsume and Lord Ibuki looked at her in surprise.

“Why, nothing. He's fine,” Lord Ibuki replied hastily.

“Even without Morning Star?”

Seeing the disconcerted look on his face, Saya realized that Lord Ibuki knew nothing of Chihaya's whereabouts. Natsume seemed to hesitate and then in a strange tone answered Saya's question with one of her own.

“My lady, everyone has been talking about it, but is it true that he's a Prince of Light?”

Saya was caught off guard. So now everyone knew, she thought. “Yes, it's true.”

“And that even though he was slain in battle, he came back to life as though nothing had happened . . .” Natsume's words trailed off.

Saya did not know what to say. “Yes, but—”

“Well, I never,” Natsume said with forced cheerfulness, but she was unable to keep her composure any longer. The hand in which she had held the bouquet of flowers was trembling. “Excuse me a moment,” she whispered and left without a backward glance.

“She's a brave girl,” Lord Ibuki said in a low voice. “She never utters a word of complaint.”

Saya wondered where she went to vent her grief.

Left on her own when Lord Ibuki departed, Saya went out on shaky legs to search for Chihaya. If Natsume had been there, she would certainly not have allowed her to go, but she had not yet returned. Outside, the light was yellow and blindingly bright, and the wind felt uncomfortably cold against her skin. There were some soldiers training, their loud cries resounding, but Chihaya was nowhere to be seen. Nor was he among those returning with food supplies. Before she realized it, she had cut across the dwelling area and was heading for the spring, drawn by the shady darkness.

Fresh mountain water poured out of a rock, forming a deep, brimming pool from which a narrow stream flowed. Lord Akitsu had chosen this spot as their temporary base partly because of this spring. The rocks that formed its banks were fringed with ferns, and above her head a tall, slender katsura tree raised its branches like a guardian spirit. Exhausted, Saya collapsed upon a rock. She thought half-angrily,
That heartless wretch! Making an invalid walk
all this way in search of him, when really he should have come to see
me while I was sick.

Lord Shinado claimed that Chihaya had no compassion. Although she did not want to admit it, she thought gloomily that he might be right.

She gazed at the clear water and suddenly felt thirsty. Leaning over the edge of the rock, she bent to scoop up the water in her hands. There she saw the katsura tree reflected in the pond as in a mirror. She began to laugh. After chuckling to herself for a moment, she looked up. “What on earth are you doing up there?”

On a large branch, Chihaya sat like a nesting bird. He looked down at her, his eyes blinking like an owl's. “How did you know?”

“Because you're reflected perfectly in the water. Come on down.” Although he rose slowly, he slid quickly down the trunk to stand beside her. Looking at her more closely, he said, “You look thinner.”

“I wasn't feeling well. But I'm all right now.” She broke off abruptly, realizing that he was still dressed in the ragged clothes that had been torn by the fangs of the wolves. “What have you been doing all this time?”

“Sitting in the tree. I was thinking.”

“The whole time?”

“The whole time.”

Saya stared at him in amazement. “What can you have been thinking about for so long?”

Chihaya watched a leaf that he had shaken from the katsura tree riding like a small boat upon the water's surface. “Mostly I thought about the place where Morning Star has gone. All living things in Toyoashihara go there. Yet I alone return. I always come back,” he said sullenly. “I thought about why I'm denied entrance when everyone else can go.”

Saya was amused by his childish, petulant tone. “That's like crying for the moon. What a thing to begrudge us!”

“But what am I to do when, in the end, there's nowhere for me to go?” he asked earnestly. “Why was I given this body?”

After some hesitation, Saya replied, “I don't know. I don't even understand my own self. But surely the God of Light and the Goddess of Darkness know.”

“My father in the heavens?” Chihaya whispered. He sat down, looking even more discouraged, and hugged his knees to his chest. “Saya, if you want to meet the Goddess of your people you can go, right? But I can't go to my father. Not like my sister or my brother.”

“Why not?”

“Because I'm different.”

They looked at each other. Chihaya said quietly, “My sister used to say that my very existence would harm our divine father. Now I know what she meant.”

Before Saya could speak, he drew the Dragon Sword from its scabbard. “Look at this. Then you'll understand, too.”

Saya hastily smothered a scream of surprise. The naked blade did not glow. The polished metal merely reflected the rays of the midday sun, and the stones on the hilt remained dark. Chihaya laid the blade gently on top of the rock.

“Put it away quickly! It's dangerous!” Saya begged him anxiously.

“Would you like to pray for the Dragon to appear?”

“Don't be silly!” she said, her voice rising, but Chihaya shook his head, indicating that he had not spoken in jest.

“Even if you prayed, it would make no difference. The Dragon wouldn't come. It wouldn't even raise its voice in a single roar.”

Saya looked at the sword suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that the Dragon no longer resides in the sword.”

When Saya raised her wide-eyed face to his, Chihaya pointed to his own breast. “The Dragon is here.”

“Where?”

“In me.”

“Since when?”

“Since that night.” He averted his eyes.

“The night the wolves came?”

“Yes. You probably didn't notice, but that night the Dragon never appeared. I was the only one there. By the time I realized it, I had become one with the Dragon.”

Saya caught her breath and whispered, “How could that happen?”

“I don't know.” Chihaya suddenly sounded uncertain. “But . . . I only know that I wanted to give the god that killed Morning Star a taste of his own medicine.”

Saya did not know how to respond. As Priestess of the Sword, what should she say to him? She must choose her words very carefully. This new state of affairs might have grave consequences or it might not.

While she could not undo what had already been done, the perspective she chose as Priestess and the way in which she pronounced judgment would change their future. In that sense, she had the power to turn bad luck into good, or good luck into bad. That much she knew. It was ironic, perhaps, but she had learned this at the Palace of Light.

“So that means that the Dragon Sword can never again rage as it wills without your consent?” Saya asked.

“Yes.” Chihaya nodded. “The Dragon is still in here. I can feel it constantly, like a nesting insect, a smoldering ember.”

“Then you have captured the Dragon. You have sheathed it much more deeply and securely than before. That's good. You've made progress.”

Chihaya looked at her in surprise. “It's good? To become the Dragon?”

“If you never let it out again, yes; if you yourself become its scabbard. If you're strong enough, you may even be able to keep it locked away forever,” she said with conviction. “You just need to become stronger.”

“Do you think I can?” Chihaya regarded her doubtfully. “Don't I frighten you, Saya? You used to shun the Dragon with such dread.” “You're not the Dragon,” she assured him brightly. “You have eyes, a mouth, you can think and talk. Become greater than the Dragon, grasp it by the neck and don't let go. I'm sure that you can do it. If
you're the one Lady Iwa called the Wind Child.”
Chihaya picked up the Sword and sheathed it in its scabbard. “If you say so, Saya,” he said, smiling shyly. “Now I don't have to think about it anymore.”

She smiled back. “I was looking for you. There's something I wanted to tell you. I, too, have done a lot of thinking since that night.”

She broke off and looked at the tranquil scene around them. While she paused, Chihaya remained motionless, waiting for her to speak. Coming to her senses, Saya felt slightly embarrassed and shrugged her shoulders, saying, “It's nothing important. It's just that I've finally figured out what I must do. What I mean is this.” She pointed to the katsura tree. “You think that this tree is beautiful, too, right? Soon its leaves will turn a brilliant gold. And, of course, it will look spectacular, but in winter when it has shed its leaves, it will still be beautiful in its majesty. And in spring, its branches will be filled with budding leaves, as sweet as newborn babies. Or take the water in this spring, for example. The reason it's so clear and pure is because fresh water is always pouring into it, giving it no time to stagnate. The beauty of Toyoashihara is found in this process of birth and death, always shifting and changing. No matter how loath we may be to accept the changes, we can't put out a hand to stop them. For if we did, in that instant its beauty and purity would vanish.”

Turning to face him, she continued. “You, the immortal Children of Light, have a different beauty—eternal, unchanging. But this beauty belongs in the heavens; it isn't meant for Toyoashihara. I don't want you to destroy Toyoashihara. I want you to understand that this land is beautiful just as it is. This is why my people are fighting. And that's what I must do, too.”