Spirit's Princess (45 page)

Kaya’s protests did nothing to stop the battering rain of questions. Hoshi had died at dawn, and in the growing light of a new day, I could see the crowd as more than just a featureless mass of people. I recognized every one of the villagers before me and realized that their relentless demands to learn the truth about Hoshi’s fate wasn’t mere idle curiosity. Many of them had loved ones who’d come through the worst of the great sickness and seemed to be on the mend, just like her. I could read their fears in their faces:
Lady Hoshi was getting better, and then, without warning, she died. Why? Can that happen to my kin? Will it?
Must
it? Tell me it was some random evil, something that won’t cross my threshold! Say there’s something
, anything
we can do to prevent it! Banish it! Destroy it! Cast it far away! Don’t leave us like this, so helpless, so afraid
.

“Stop it!” I called out to the people in my loudest, most commanding voice. “Don’t you
hear
what Lady Kaya’s saying? It’s
all
she knows. When there’s more to tell, we won’t hide it, I promise you, but for now—for now, please let there be peace.” I cast a significant look in Lady Ikumi’s direction. “For all our sakes.”

The attack of questions died to a murmur of sympathy as Lady Ikumi was escorted into her oldest child’s house. I
remained outside with Kaya for only a little longer, then helped my friend go back in and join her mother. As we knelt in a row beside Hoshi’s body, I heard the sound of someone clearing his throat behind me. Turning toward the doorway, I saw Sora waiting patiently.

“I’ve brought the children,” he said. “I thought—I thought that she would want to hold them.” He indicated Lady Ikumi.

I looked to Kaya, who nodded. The next moment, Lady Ikumi was hugging her two youngest children fiercely, defying the forces that had stolen her oldest daughter away from her, taking comfort from life in the face of loss.

Hoshi’s funeral rites took place the next day. Lady Ikumi dressed me herself, seeing to it that I was arrayed with all the ornaments she wore when she performed such ceremonies. The Shika burial ground was somewhat different from ours. There were no tall, square mounds to mark the resting places of high-ranking people, only low rises where the soil had been piled over the earthenware jars holding the bodies of the dead. As I looked upon the site, I saw far too many new graves and prayed that the first snow would come soon, to hide them from sight until spring could cover them with flowers.

The spirits of wind and cloud took pity on Hoshi’s family and sent us a day of clear skies and cool, dry weather. As we walked to the burial ground, the mourners’ hemp clothing rustled as softly as the scarlet swashes of maple leaves on the far mountainside. Before I began the ritual, I turned to Lady Ikumi and asked her to bless my efforts.

“Hoshi was very dear to me,” I said. “I’m afraid that my arts aren’t good enough to honor her spirit as well as she deserves. When I dance, I—I’m afraid that I might stumble, the way I always used to do.”

“If you stumble, you stumble.” Lady Ikumi cradled my face with her hands. “It will be as the gods decide. They guided you here, years ago. They brought you back to us now because they knew we would need you.” She kissed my brow and added, “That
I
would need you. Dearest one, I pray that you’ll never endure the pain of losing a child, but trust my words: the pain of having to send your child’s spirit into the darkness with your own hands is even worse. You’ve spared me that today. If you dance as lightly as a dragonfly or lurch at every second step, it won’t matter. However you tread the path the gods have laid at your feet, you honor my daughter’s life. Dance for her, Himiko, with every blessing.”

Her reassurance filled me with serene confidence. I performed the burial rite with my mind free from any misgivings and my actions cleansed of everything but the desire to bring comfort to those who mourned and peace to the departed spirit.

We returned to Lady Ikumi’s house after the ceremony. I changed out of my borrowed shaman’s garb into my own familiar clothing. Lady Ikumi was sitting with her two youngest children, quietly telling them a story about some bit of mischief Hoshi had gotten into when she was their age. I knelt in front of them and offered her the pile of clothes and ornaments I’d used.

“Thank you, Himiko.” The Shika chieftess smiled, but
her eyes were soft with melancholy. “Please put those in that corner over there, with the rolled-up bedding, but before you do—” She leaned forward and picked two things from the top of the pile I held out to her. “I want you to keep these,” she said, holding up a necklace of curved green glass beads in one hand and a bronze mirror in the other.

“Lady Ikumi, I haven’t done anything to deserve such rich gifts,” I said.

She dismissed my protests with a gesture. “If every gift had to be earned, we would all be poorer. I want you to have this necklace because my Hoshi always admired it, but whenever I tried to give it to her, she refused.”

“That’s true,” Kaya put in. “Hoshi always said, ‘That necklace is for a chieftess to wear, not me.’ ”

“Then I shouldn’t accept it, either,” I said. “I’ll never rule my clan or any other.”

“You
should
take it, Himiko,” Lady Ikumi corrected me. “Not because of what you are now or what you might become, but only because it would please me to know that whenever you look at it, you’ll remember us.”

“I’d never forget you, necklace or no necklace,” I replied. “But since it will make you happy—” I ducked my head, and she let the glittering beads fall around my neck.

“Now, I do hope you won’t raise any objections to my giving you
this
,” she said, holding out the mirror. “I have several more. Put down that pile of clothing and look at it.”

I did as she directed, first gazing into the gleaming surface that held a second Himiko’s face, then turning the little mirror over to study the designs decorating the back. I saw
the image of a leaping woman so elaborately garbed that she had to be a shaman. A pair of antlered deer flanked her. They were rearing up, brandishing their forelegs so that the three figures looked as though they were dancing together.

“Did this come from the Mirror Kingdom?” I asked, awed by such a lovely thing.

“No, it was made here years ago, in this very village. My great-grandmother was our shaman and chieftess then. She saw the scene in a holy vision and had our smith re-create it in bronze. Take good care of it, Himiko; it’s very special.”

“It
is
special—too special for me to take,” I said. “Lady Ikumi, this mirror is sacred to your clan, to your family, and I—I don’t belong to either one.”

She didn’t dispute what I said. We both knew that I wouldn’t be remaining among the Shika. The only question was
when
I’d leave, and why. Would I go because it was my choice, made to spare my mother further anxiety, or would my departure be forced on me by Lady Ikumi’s own unswayable decision, that I had to leave to spare her people war with mine?

Meanwhile, she sat with her children clinging to her neck, her hands folded in her lap, and ignored my attempts to give back her great-grandmother’s relic.

“Please, Himiko, no arguments,” she said calmly. “You did me a great service today. This is the most that I can do for you.”

I bowed my head a second time. I saw no point in fighting this battle. There were still sick people among the Shika, and I had my work waiting for me.

“As you wish, Lady Ikumi,” I said. I rose, put away her clothing and the rest of her ornaments, tucked the mirror into my sash beside my cherished wand, and left the house.

For the rest of that day, I couldn’t take three steps without encountering a villager who wanted to know the details of Hoshi’s death. I told them the truth—that there are times when the gods like to remind us that they
are
the gods. Even though we share this world with them, their powers are greater than ours will ever be.

No one liked the truth. They kept insisting that there must be something about Hoshi’s illness that I’d overlooked, or had seen and forgotten, or was deliberately keeping to myself.

“I’m not hiding anything,” I protested. “Why would I? These things just … happen.”

Still the people kept at me. They didn’t want to be told that things just … 
happen
, especially bad things. What would prevent random tragedy from finding them? They wanted a magical reply—that if you do this or if you refrain from doing that, you’ll be safe. I should have made up such a comforting lie, but I was too tired to think of one and too miserable over Hoshi’s death to be able to deal with the same questions over and over again.

Finally, I couldn’t take any more. “Why won’t you believe me?” I snapped at an especially persistent villager. “I did everything I could to heal Lady Hoshi—
everything
! It just wasn’t—wasn’t—” I was so frustrated I was sputtering.

“It wasn’t enough,” the villager murmured. “You did so much for us that it’s hard to remember you’re only a girl. You can make mistakes. It’s not your fault she died. Sorry to
bother you.” He walked away, never knowing that the words he’d meant to comfort me had left me sick at heart.

Your fault …
The ghost that had been haunting my thoughts so timidly now leaped into the light, a monstrous thing.
Her death
is
your fault! It
is!
It
is,
and you know it! Your fault and no one else’s!
The ghastly phantom howled with triumph.

I tried to reject it, to cast it out, but it anchored its claws in me and would not let go. My mind became a whirlwind of
I should have
and
If only
and
Why didn’t I
—
?
My brother’s haggard face emerged from the land of dreams to accuse me:
You saved so many other lives, Himiko. Why couldn’t you save hers?
Memories of Yama’s death brought their own ruthless ghosts. I
had
saved many lives. Why had I lost the battle to save two of the people who meant the most to me and to those I loved? I burst into sobs and ran back to Lady Ikumi’s house.

Kaya was standing outside when I came stumbling up and collapsed on the threshold. She dropped to one knee beside me and tried to raise me from the ground, but I was too heavy with grief and guilt to be more than deadweight in her arms. I lay there until I felt three pairs of arms working together to lift me and saw the faces of my friend, her mother, and her older brother all staring at me with a mixture of confusion and concern.

The vengeful ghost inside me leered.
What are you going to tell them when they ask what’s wrong? Will you confess that you’re the one responsible for their mourning? That you didn’t work as hard as you could to save Hoshi? You should have been tending her constantly, day and night! Instead, you left her care to others while you slept. You slept her life away! Tell yourself the truth, Himiko: Did Hoshi’s death just …
happen?
Or did it happen because of your selfishness, your neglect, your
failure?
How does it feel to
play
at being a healer when someone else loses the game?

The creature’s cruel laughter was an echo in my ears as I sat up and faced Hoshi’s family. Without waiting for their questions, I said, “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m crying like this. I’m just very tired, and”—I coughed—“and I miss her, and I don’t know how I’m going to be able to break the news to Aki, and”—I coughed again, my throat rough from so much sobbing—“and I think I should go home now. Soon. Tomorrow.”

“There’s no need to make a hasty decision, Himiko,” Lady Ikumi said.

“Oh, I’m not!” I said quickly. “I’ve been thinking about this. I went around the village tonight and saw that things are much better. Your people don’t need me anymore. I should go, before winter comes.”

The Shika chieftess gave me a searching look. “Are you sure of what you’re saying? You have
some
time. Winter won’t come as soon as you imagine.”

“I thought you’d be glad to know I’m ready to leave,” I replied. A fresh bout of coughing threatened to interrupt me, but I held my knuckles to my mouth and fought it down. I didn’t want Lady Ikumi deciding it meant I was too sick to travel when it was only the end result of all my weeping.

“I said that you couldn’t stay, but that doesn’t mean I’m
happy to see you go. Don’t you know how deeply I regret having to send you back?”

I nodded, and took a long, hoarse breath. “Please forgive me. I shouldn’t have said such a thing to you, especially now. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, why I’m so selfish. I should stay at least long enough to perform the purification rites for you, after the time of mourning’s over.”

“
You
, selfish?” My friend Kaya snorted. “You
must
be tired. Mother, tell her to go to sleep before she says anything else so ridiculous.”

Kaya had the gift for being able to cheer anyone, in nearly any circumstances. Lady Ikumi was able to smile at us both and say, “There’s the wisdom of Lady Badger again, always so sensible. Perhaps you should have a nap now, Himiko. Wash your face with some cool water first; you look a little flushed from crying, and I don’t like the sound of your throat.”

“It’s nothing. I brought it on myself,” I said. “I’ll be fine if I can rest my voice.”

“See that you do.” She patted my cheek, and a momentary look of uncertainty flitted over her face. “We’ll wake you up when it’s time to eat.”

“Thank you, Lady Ikumi,” I said, and went to lay out my bedroll in the back of the house.

I slept deeply, so very deeply that when Kaya came to wake me up, she had to shake me for a long time to rouse me. When I did open my eyes, I couldn’t get them to focus. Her face was a blur, and her voice seemed to be coming from the bottom of a well.

“Himiko? Himiko, what’s wrong with you?” she asked. “You look strange. Why are you just lying there? Get up! It’s time for dinner.”