CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
Rui
The little gods were made of stone.
They waited for her, as they always did. They smiled their stone smiles. They presented the open hand of alms, and of forgiveness. By the leaves and drooping branches, the trail that had dampened, turning dark now in the flits of rain, Rui sat on her knees and prayed the traveler’s prayer again. She swept the clearing before the shrine, encircled in a ring of stones. Above, the great cedar tree stood, not so large as the others on the Godspath, but it was sacred, for this was O-inenari’s place, place of the god of travelers and children and those who were lost. Thick-woven cords of hemp hung tied around its trunk, graying and turning in the damp, and bundles of twine and cloth lined low branches of the maples, gifts for little spirits, which watched you from the wooden roof and the nearby branches of the trees. Folded paper hung around the shrine at either side.
A breeze came, the paper dolls danced and swung about on their little strings, and the shaking of pines and leaves was like the sound of waves; she’d always wondered if this was what the priests meant when they said to listen for the gods. She wondered if this was gods’ music. She washed her hands in the little dipping bowl by the altar, waved them dry, clapped three times, and bowed before her god.
“Humbly, I approach,” she said, muttering the prayer. “Humbly I speak, and thank you, O-ine, for your protection. Morning and night I work atmy tasks and strive to add some good into the world, for the world has such cracks and broken lands and people in them broken too; I pray that the god before me may give strength and the courage to keep going. Even in the dark, I know you’re there. I ask not for prosperity over others, but for simple health and the happiness of all. Grant us safety, O-ine, from evil beings, and protect my home and village, and those who care for me in my times of need. May I not stray from the path, but if I do, may you correct me on my way. I pray this. I pray this today and every day. Thank you, O-ine. May I hear your true voice and see with open eyes. With reverence, I humbly speak these words.”
She remained in prayer until the breeze had passed and the trail grew silent again. She bowed her head. She breathed in, breathed out. Ten deep breaths, then ten for the father and the mother that had given her life. Ten for the family she now had. Ten for the earth itself.
When it was done, she turned to the canvas bag she had brought with her, and removed a small wooden brick the size of two hands. She had her carving knife in her pocket, and carefully, under the watchful eye of her gods, began to carve.
What will my future be?she thought.
How do I know my path? The road to take?
She asked as she always did, soundlessly, feeling herself filled with uncertainty, and with questions. The forest, and the trees and the gods they held all heard her, but their answer didn’t come. Perhaps they were too quiet, too subtle, to hear.
She enjoyed working the wood, feeling the smooth friction of it in her hands, the pressure and the movement of the knife. It felt that with each stroke, she was, herself, giving way, that she was opening something inside her heart. But still, the woods were quiet. Soon she’d carved the image of a child, a boy, to represent the boy she’d killed. The craft helped focus her, and she was glad, but even now the memories, the images, the sounds and terror in her chest came back.
She found herself in the past again, hands shaking, eyes watering with the frenzy of it: the man, theboy; his ragged gasp, his whispered “What?” His face as he fell. The wooden figure remained, expressionless, in her hands; and still she felt cursed, cursed by what she’d done, by the world that told her she was no one; by those who said,Listen. Follow orders. Befit your station: serve.
She would feel this way, she thought, for the rest of her life.
“It’s like a ghost is haunting me,” she told Sen, once.
Now, she placed the figure on the shrine.
“His name,” she said to the gods, “was Idachi Honnen… May you watch over him. May he find rest.”
Tears came again, fast and full. She couldn’t stop. She sniffed, moved to a seated position at the base of the shrine again, clapping her hands together. I’m sorry, she wanted to say. I’m so sorry. But the gods already knew, and saying it wouldn’t change what had been done. Only action would. Only moving forward. “Keep walking,” Jobo said, and that was what she knew she had to do.Redemption, he’d told her,is a choice you make, over and over again.
Now she looked up and saw the stars, heard the wind through the leaves.
“I’m lost,” she said, aloud. The world felt so huge, so unknowable. The stone foxes watched with their unblinking eyes.
She gazed at the shrine, and beyond it, to the deepening sky. She imagined herself in another world, a happy world, a world where things didn’t go so wrong. She remembered Sen’s voice, his beguiling laugh, the light in his eyes, and the look that said,This wonderful universe. Let’s live in it.She remembered the words of the autumn song again. She felt as if she’d fallen into the river of the stars, and that someone, someone she loved, lay waiting for her on the far bank, out of sight. But she had no birds to carry her across.
I’ll always be on the outside, she thought.Trying to find my way home. I don’t know if it even exists anymore.“I pray,” she whispered.
I pray, and the gods and myself cease to exist.
My twin-sided souls are one
With the gods.
We are one
We are one
With the world.
The next morning, a bright sheen of dew had settled over the woods, and little songbirds fluttered from the trees. She found her teacher in his hut at the side of the temple; Sen was already there, bright-eyed and glowing from morning practice. “I have something to show you,” Jobo said.
In the great hall, the crow monks had several ancient weapons and mirrors and jade jewels in the investiture. As sacred items, inhabited by gods, they each had their own shrine, small and separated from the others in the paths of Kannagara. Jobo led them to the shrine-of-the-spear, and for the first time, allowed them to remain as he removed the blade itself.
