Local Legends

 

With no sign of anyone coming or going, Kimiko hightailed it up the shrine stairs. She was two-thirds of the way to the top—it was a matter of pride for all the Miyabe girls that they could climb the full length without stopping—when Akira called out.

“Wait up!” Akira gesticulated uselessly. She really needed to teach him some basics. “Suuzu’s looking at something.”

Kimiko moved to one side in order to see to the bottom, where the phoenix stood as still as the statue he was studying. Skipping back down, she stopped beside Akira. “Sorry, Suuzu,” she said in a normal speaking voice. “I guess I should have started our tour with those.”

He gestured for peace and patience as he circled the second crouching dragon.

Akira fidgeted on the edge of the step, but he also understood that Suuzu could hear them fine, despite the distance. “So … dragons, huh? Is there a story behind those?”

“Of course! And it comes in two versions—one for the general public, one for members of the In-between.”

Suuzu was beside them in a flicker of movement so fast, he seemed to step out of thin air. He said, “I would like to hear more. After you introduce me to your tree.”

Kimiko couldn’t imagine why he was so serious. She’d mostly been teasing. But she gestured for quiet and jogged upward, taking the last dozen steps two at a time.

Akira was puffing when he caught up, but his eyes were sparkling. “You live here?”

“Welcome to Kikusawa Shrine.” And with a furtive scamper, she took a path shielded by an enormous rhododendron hedge that still clung to its leaves, a thicket of red-twigged maples, and a double row of burlap-wrapped lumps that would become showy hydrangeas come summer. “This way,” she whispered, pointing upward.

They were already under the outermost edge of the vast canopy of the city’s oldest living resident. Well, that had been its claim to fame before the Emergence. First and second generation Amaranthine were old enough, one of them might have actually planted the ancient tree.

Kikusawa’s giant was as much a landmark of the Keishi skyline as the bell tower of Saint Midori’s. All commemorative photographs taken by the Miyabe family—by most families in Kikusawa, for that matter—had a bark backdrop. It was considered lucky to mark milestones under the shelter of its limbs, as if all of them were including the tree in their celebrations. Birthdays, graduations, weddings, reunions, festivals, and holidays. But Kimiko’s attachment to the tree was more personal.

The tree was her hideaway. Tucked amidst its roots, she used to pretend that it was one of the fabled Amaranthine trees, sentient despite its long silence. She’d imagined her soul was a comfort, that her words could reach the person inside. So she’d tried to become the tree’s steadiest companion; in return, it had become her confidante.

“Wow. What kind of tree gets this big?” asked Akira.

“No one’s entirely sure. I mean, the official story is that it’s an obscure variety of camphor tree.”

“But it’s not?” asked Akira.

“No,” said Suuzu, peering up at its waxy, evergreen foliage. “It is not.”

“Specialists from the reaver community come every once in a while, taking samples, running tests, and making a huge mess by scrounging through our archives.” Kimiko led Akira and Suuzu to a spot on the quiet side of the tree, away from the path, out of view from the house. “Their best guess is that the tree is some kind of hybrid, a sort of halfway descendant of the trees of song.”

Akira pressed a hand to the tree. “Why not ask the Amaranthine?”

“The reavers have. Lots of times. It’s in the records, and they always give the same answer—Kusunoki is sleeping.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Akira flung his arms wide and sprawled against the trunk, but the tree was too big to hug. They’d have needed most of their class linking hands to surround it. “Anybody home?” he inquired softly.

Kimiko leaned into the tree, gazing up through limbs she knew how to reach—and still sometimes climbed. In summer, she liked to revisit the maze of limbs that cast shade over the shrine courtyard.

Settling into a familiar curve amidst the roots, she said, “I used to sit here for hours, especially when Grandma made me read. Sharing the drudgery with my tree made it easier to get through all the boring subjects I had to take at Kikusawa Middle. I wasn’t very good in school, but trees are patient. We made it through somehow.”

Akira groaned sympathetically and lowered himself to an adjacent twist of wood. “Same for me, only I had Suuzu and his tutoring to get me through.”

Suuzu’s soft trill was hard for Kimiko to interpret, but the accompanying posture was self-deprecating. That made sense. Especially when you added in Akira’s small smile, which was all patience and fondness and there you go again.

After a scant week, Kimiko’s accumulating impressions were settling into patterns. Suuzu was quick to notice but rarely spoke up. He was efficient and orderly, but in a quiet way, as if he didn’t want to impose his preferences. She’d begun to think of him as passive, but that didn’t jive with the enigmatic undercurrent she was picking up now. It was so … forceful.

Was he trying to wake her tree?

Shaking free of the fanciful notion, Kimiko said, “Kusunoki is my favorite part of home, but there are lots of other good places. Like the storehouse attic. The reliquerium. And the archive, of course.” Kimiko had inherited care of the shrine’s extensive literature collection after her grandfather’s death. She might not like to read, but she excelled at organizing collections. “What would you like to see next?”

Suuzu shook his head. “You spoke of dragons. Tell us their story, and in return, I will sing you a song of trees.”

“Okay, but not out here.” Kimiko gave an exaggerated shudder. “Follow me to a warmer hiding place.”

She led them on a roundabout path to the archive, which was located in one of the shrine’s several detached buildings. Its key was hers, so their privacy was assured. Inside, she shed her boots and hung coat and scarf. While her partners did the same, she padded over to the clunky electric heater in the corner. She knew from long experience that it would pop and groan and wheeze in complaint, but it would soon be throwing off enough heat to set the battered gold kettle on top to steaming.

“A library? Wow, these look old.” Akira jammed his hands in his pockets as if he’d been warned to look but not touch. “Do shrines have so much paperwork?”

“We do keep ordinary records, but most of our collection has to do with folk lore and fables. It’s a Miyabe family tradition and entirely unique.”

In truth, after her grandfather’s death, there had been several carefully-worded invitations to move the contents of Kikusawa Shrine’s archive to Ingress Academy’s larger, more modern facility. But Grandma had declined every offer in no uncertain terms. Their trove of stories, their handful of dusty relics, and the mysterious blade for which their shrine was named—all would remain in their trust and keeping. This was their whole purpose.

Kimiko said, “I’m in charge of them now.”

“How many have you read?” asked Akira as he took a seat at the folding table in the center of the room.

“Hardly any, but I can find anything. I used to help my grandfather index these books and files.” She quietly repeated, “I’m in charge of them now.”

“How long?” Akira asked softly.

She didn’t try not to understand. “Almost a year.”

Suuzu’s expression gentled, and his hands curved in an expression of sympathy.

Akira, who was paying closer attention to such things now, mimicked his best friend, adding a low, “Sorry.”

“Thanks. It’s okay, but … thanks.” Kimiko rummaged in the cupboard that held her chocolate stash and laid out the remainder of her convenience store snacks, opening two more bags of crisps. “We can make tea once the water’s hot.”

Akira wrinkled his nose. “Kimchi and Chives? Really?”

“It’s a limited edition,” she said coaxingly.

He peeked at the label on the other bag. “Why do you like such strange combinations?”

Kimiko beamed. “Don’t shy away from the unknown! Risk can be exciting. And new experiences are hard to come by in a place that exists to uphold traditions.” She nibbled thoughtfully at a chip dusted with green and purple flecks. “This may be as adventurous as my life will ever get.”

Akira bit … and gagged.

Suuzu considered her for a long moment, then gravely accepted her hospitality.

She chuckled at his pained expression. “I’ll admit, I’m content to let Sardine Brulee remain a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Do you like sweets?”

“Not when they’re mixed with fish sauce,” grumbled Akira.

“I may dabble with daring flavors, but there’s only one chocolate for me!” Kimiko placed the chocolate bars in the center of the table like a peace offering. “Junzi makes the finest in the world. You can help me eat these. All I ask is that you let me keep the labels. I collect them.”

Suuzu’s whole posture radiated welcome surprise and pleasure. “The renown of the Rindo clan is vast. My brother shares your fondness for their confections, though not your generosity.”

Kimiko’s eyes widened. “Junzi is an urban enclave?”

The phoenix ducked guiltily. “That … may yet be a secret.”

“Rindo, huh?” Akira eased a chocolate bar out of a sleeve with a snowflake design. “I think I met one of them. Tried to use fudge to bribe Sis into letting one of their crossers come to us for schooling. Like she’d turn anyone away. Cute kid. Ringed tail.”

Suuzu blinked. “And that was definitely a secret.”

Akira crammed half a chocolate bar into his mouth, ostensibly to keep from spilling any more scandals. Suuzu was clearly flustered, and his posture begged for confidence. But he confirmed her suspicion. “Your favorite sweets are tanuki-made.”

Kimiko cleared her throat. “How about I spill one of our shrine’s secrets, and we’ll all just … keep them.”

They nodded, and she firmly changed the subject. “Have you heard of the Star Festival?”

“Of course,” said Akira. “I’ve lived in Keishi all my life. It’s coming up soon.”

Suuzu inclined his head. “A city-wide street festival to celebrate a local saint.”

“Saint Midori of the Heavenly Lights,” said Akira. “She’s supposed to have saved the city.”

“How?” prompted Kimiko.

“By calling down the stars or something.” Akira waved his hands around. “Everyone knows the song that goes with the bonfire dance. She came like an angel, and all that.”

“Except Midori wasn’t an angel,” said Kimiko. “She was a reaver. More specifically, a beacon. And it’s said that her radiance woke the stars, who flew to her aid. Impressions.”

“Your story is ancient if there are imps at play,” said Suuzu. “They were lost before the rise of the Kindred.”

“Far from ancient,” Kimiko said eagerly. “This story’s only three-hundred years old, give or take, which means there may still be imps in the world.”

Suuzu only hummed.

Kimiko said, “The Star Festival may be the only festival that’s celebrated by humans and reavers.”

“What do the Amaranthine have to say about it?” asked Akira.

She puffed out her cheeks. “Nothing. My grandfather once tried to get Harmonious Starmark to clarify some of the details. I mean, there’s a hound in the story, and that hints at his clan’s involvement. But Harmonious only said that he’s always liked that story, then changed the subject. Grandfather was convinced he knows more—probably everything—but it’s a big secret for some reason.”

Akira held up a finger. “Hang on. If the legend actually happened, and Saint Midori was a reaver, what did she save the city from?”

Kimiko’s smile widened. “Humans usually say it was a falling star. Although some think it was an earthquake, or even a volcanic eruption. But every record at Kikusawa is very clear on that point. Our city was under attack.”

“From …?” demanded Akira.

“From those who are still depicted, cringing and cowering at the foot of Kikusawa and Kusunoki.” Kimiko was delighted by how quickly they caught on.

“Oh, man. You’re kidding, right?” Akira asked wonderingly.

Suuzu filled in the blank. “From dragons.”