Budding Star

by Annie Dalton

  Reuben and I exchanged astounded looks.

  “Do you think she’s been talking to Jess Lightpath?” he joked.

  “I think she’s being a right little diva!“I complained.

  Reuben was watching a rapidly disappearing Tsubomi. “I don’t think your little diva is going to stop,” he warned.

  We galloped for ages before we finally caught her up. It was exhilarating actually, riding through that sparkling winter landscape. The weight of so much snow had bent some trees totally down to the ground, so they formed a series of dazzling white archways. It was like riding through some hushed ice cathedral.

  Until Reuben pointed it out, I didn’t realise anything was missing. “I haven’t seen one single person,” he said abruptly.

  “Good,” said Tsubomi coldly. “People are more trouble than they’re worth.”

  “No, they’re not,” I snapped. Sorry, but I was not in the mood for humouring snotty fairy-tale princesses today.

  “I haven’t even seen a bird,” Reuben pondered. “You’d think there’d be birds, or squirrels or foxes. But there’s just us.”

  A moment later we saw the musician, his fingers still poised on the strings of the battered biwa. Both the musician and his harp were totally encased in ice.

  Reubs and I slid off our horses and rushed to see if we could help.

  “Can that happen?” I whispered. “Can someone be frozen stiff in the middle of playing the lute?”

  I was going to suggest we could try to thaw him out with our vibes, but at that moment Tsubomi just went zooming off again, as if she totally hadn’t noticed the frozen musician!

  By this time, we ‘d twigged that she was capable of just galloping on forever, so we jumped back on our horses and went racing after her.

  I really felt bad leaving that poor guy all alone in the snow, but as we rode on, frozen musicians became a distressingly familiar sight. We also saw a number of frozen carriages abandoned at the side of the road. Ice crystals had transformed them all into twinkling fairy-tale coaches. Each coach had its own sorrowful Japanese Cinderella frozen inside.

  We rode on past woods and temples and roadside shrines, through a white, sparkling, silent world where everything and everyone had totally turned to ice. Throughout this harrowing journey, Tsubomi didn’t say a word. She seemed more worried about the casket, giving it anxious little pats, as if to reassure herself it was still there.

  I don’t know why it took me so long to catch on. Maybe phoenix vibes are affected by the cold? But all at once I felt it, a tiny fiery whisper of the fabulous life force we’d felt on Level Two.

  I quickly manoeuvred my horse alongside Reuben’s.“Guess what’s in the casket,” I whispered.

  “Can’t,” he whispered back.

  “I just felt a teeny tiny phoenix vibe. She must have brought the egg from Level Two.”

  I saw Reuben digesting this. “Do you think she knows? What’s inside the casket, I mean?”

  I shook my head. “Just that it’s precious. You notice she’s guarding it like a Doberman?”

  “It’s like, on this level she knows and she doesn’t know at the same time,” he sighed. “Like she half remembers us, but she doesn’t know if she can trust us.”

  “You think that’s why she’s acting so weird?” Seen in this light, Tsubomi’s behaviour made a lot more sense.

  “I get the feeling she remembers she’s meant to do something special,” Reuben explained. “She just has no idea what. The poor kid’s totally lost. You can see it in her eyes.”

  Reuben has this amazing ability to see through to the basic goodness inside people, even when they’re being anything but. My eyes unexpectedly filled with tears. “Reuben you’re such an angel sometimes,” I said huskily.

  “Meaning?”

  “I see a diva with a bad attitude, you just see—” I shook my head, not quite trusting my voice. A very scared human, I thought.

  It was so obvious, now Reuben had pointed it out. I’d been so wrapped up in my own selfish feelings, I’d totally misread her behaviour.

  With no map, no idea where we were going, and Tsubomi frostily refusing our advice, our journey fell into a weird pattern. We’d ride like demons until we reached a crossroad, then wait around until she decided which road to take.

  Riding in aimless circles in the snow, in pursuit of a lost soul who has no idea who she is or where she’s supposed to be going, is a deeply overrated pastime. If it hadn’t been for Jessica’s insistence that this was the only way to save Tsubomi, I doubt we’d have had the nerve to stick with the programme.

  The sun went down. There were no crossroads in sight, so we just rode on. The moon rose over the frozen trees, turning the road into a shimmery white ribbon.

  “It’s cold.” They were the first words Tsubomi had spoken for hours. She shivered in her embroidered robes, looking like a haughty, but extremely frightened, royal child.

  I decided it was time to drop a teeny cosmic hint. “This might sound bizarre,” I said cautiously, “but when I really don’t know what to do, I sometimes just ask for help.”

  “Perhaps you didn’t notice, but there isn’t anyone around to ask.” Tsubomi’s teeth were chattering. She sounded about six years old.

  “That’s why Melanie said it sounded bizarre,” Reuben said softly.

  “I don’t even know what I’m doing here,” Tsubomi said in that same scared, small voice. “I’m just so cold and tired.”

  It was a v. delicate moment. We aren’t allowed to tell humans what to do. But inside, I’m going, just ask, dammit! How can the Universe answer you if you don’t even ASK?

  Tsubomi gave a hopeless shrug. “I’ll try anything, if it will make this stop.” She shut her eyes. “If anyone’s listening, please help me. I don’t think I can do this on my own anymore.”

  There was sudden snorting and a musical jingle of harnesses as all three horses simultaneously came to a halt, kicking up soft, powdery flurries of snow. Reuben’s horse whickered a friendly greeting to someone standing under the trees.

  Then the moon came out from behind a cloud, and I saw the lady. She was standing in a shaft of pure moonlight. In her silvery robes, she looked almost as if she was made of moonlight herself.

  Tsubomi gasped and slithered off her horse. She bowed reverently several times, as if she knew this lady from somewhere, or had heard of her maybe.

  “I am Lady Tsukii,” the lady told us with a smile. “My house is just a few steps from here. You are welcome to shelter there for the night.”

  Reubs and I quickly dismounted, bowing to this mysterious Lady to show respect. Our horses weren’t in the least respectful, shamelessly nuzzling her sleeves, to see if she had anything interesting to eat!

  Reuben whispered, “The horses obviously trust her. Tsubomi trusts her.”

  “And we can’t exactly ride round all night,” I whispered back.

  Sorry, Jessica, I thought.

  Even angels have to break the rules sometimes.

  We followed the Lady over a snowy footbridge, and through a sparkling winter garden. Instead of taking us straight to her house, Lady Tsukii led us to a special teahouse in the grounds. Snow lay so thickly on the roof, it literally looked quilted. The full moon hung overhead like a paper lantern drenching everything with its light.

  Lady Tsukii poured water over our hands from a special pot, then we took off our shoes and ducked through the doorway.

  The teahouse radiated such a sweet, still vibe I can’t begin to describe it. Everything was calm and simple. The low table and cushions, the floor mats giving off a faint smell of rushes, a spray of winter berries in a jar.

  I had heard about Japanese tea ceremonies. I knew it wasn’t going to be like at my mum’s, where you just plonked in a Tetleys bag for a brew. But I had no idea it was so, you know, deep.

  Each step was exact and perfect, like the flowing movements of a dance, as Lady Tsukii poured boiling water on to the tea leaves in the pot, whisked i
t to a green froth, then poured the liquid into an earthenware cup. She handed it to Tsubomi, and something in the way she did it, made this simple gesture seem truly meaningful.

  Tsubomi turned the cup, once, twice, three times, before finally lowering her face to drink. Like Lady Tsukii she was totally focused on what she was doing.

  The Lady carefully wiped the rim of the cup with a snowy white napkin, then it was my turn. As I took the cup from her, Lady Tsukii’s eyes met mine, and any doubts I had just melted away. She knew. She absolutely knew who we were. Whoever she was, she had come to help Tsubomi just when she needed it most, and that’s all we needed to know.

  I sipped at the hot green tea, taking my time, letting the peace and stillness of the teahouse flow into me.

  At the end of the ceremony, Tsubomi looked calmer than I’d ever seen her.

  Lady Tsukii led us back across the moonlit garden to her house. For a second time we removed our footwear and put on the soft cloth slippers that were waiting on the other side of the sliding door.

  Like the teahouse, Lady Tsukii’s house was calm and simple - and blissfully warm! Opening up the stove, she laid two sticks of incense on the glowing charcoal. A wonderful smell of sandalwood and frankincense filled the air (they used those oils all the time in ancient Rome), and other perfumes I couldn’t identify.

  Now we were indoors, I could see that the lady’s robes were heavily embroidered with silver thread. This must have been what had given that shimmery moonlight effect. Yet my first impression mysteriously remained. Just the way she moved mesmerised me.

  It’s not just the tea ceremony, I thought. She does every little thing like it really matters. I was sure I’d never met anyone like her, yet Lady Tsukii really reminded me of somebody, though for the life of me I couldn’t think who.

  Lady Tsukii treated us like we were her honoured guests. She even provided us with beautiful kimonos to wear while our own robes dried overnight. Mine was a gorgeous, rich, plum colour -with a matching fan. She also brought us special nibbles; and all without hurry or fuss.

  When we were sitting comfortably on cushions, our hostess indicated an ancient-looking koto (Tsubomi was right, I thought, it was far too big to lug around), and invited Reuben to play.

  “I’ll do my best,” he said doubtfully. “I’ve only played a Japanese lute before and that just had four strings.”

  Lady Tsukii smiled. “When you are a true musician, the number of strings does not really matter. Have you not heard of the master who played the most divine music ever heard on a koto that had just one string?”

  Tsubomi’s face lit up. “I know that story! I could never understand how he did it!”

  The lady’s eyes held a mischievous sparkle. “Did you never think that perhaps this legendary musician was a she?”

  “That must be it!” I joked. “My mum always said women have to do at least three impossible things before breakfast!”

  After Reuben had done his party piece, the lady asked Tsubomi to play. She seemed so nervous that Lady Tsukii tactfully suggested the two of them might sing an old folk song together.

  It was when I saw them singing, side by side, that it finally clicked.

  Lady Tsukii was like Tsubomi! How Tsubomi could be, hopefully would be, when she was older and wiser.

  If we manage to save her, I thought, and felt a sudden ache in my throat.

  “Your friend tells me you are a poet?”

  I suddenly realised Lady Tsukii was smiling at me! I went as red as a fire engine. “Oh, no, really, really I’m not,” I mumbled.

  “Yes, you are. In this world,” Reuben reminded me.

  “It would be an honour if you could compose a verse about my teahouse?” Lady Tsukii’s voice was gentle, but I could tell it would be shockingly bad manners to refuse.

  “Um, if you could just give me a moment,” I said nervously.

  I closed my eyes, and tried to remember how it felt coming out of the wintry darkness into that calm moonlit teahouse. To my relief, I immediately came up with a poem which I can still remember:

  ”Your kindly light

  Reveals a world of hidden sorrows

  That glitter like frozen tears”

  My poem seemed to please Lady Tsukii. She thanked me with a low bow.

  “I didn’t mean it to come out so sad,” I said apologetically.

  Then I glanced across at Tsubomi and saw she was on the verge of tears. “Please excuse me. I’m very tired,” she whispered.

  Perhaps the lady had been burning incense in the guest room, or maybe she used a special herb to scent the quilts, because it smelled absolutely divine.

  Tsubomi and I slept on the same low futon, wrapped in fur-lined quilts. I don’t know about Tsubomi, but I was as warm as a basket of kittens.

  When we woke, sunlight was pouring through the blinds, and our clean, dry robes were folded neatly on the end of our futon. Lady Tsukii herself was nowhere to be seen.

  Like polite guests, Tsubomi and I replaced our slippers by the sliding door, like polite guests, and went to look for Reuben.

  We both went into peals of laughter when we found him in the natural hot pool behind the house. It looked so surreal; plumes of steam rising up into the frozen trees, icicles clinking everywhere like tiny temple bells, and my angel buddy lolling back like a Roman emperor!

  I dipped in my hand experimentally. “That’s seriously hot!”

  “Bliss, that’s what it is, Beeby,” he said lazily.

  “Sorry to drag everyone away,” Tsubomi said awkwardly. “But we’ve got to get on with this quest. I promise I’ll tell you guys what it is when I know myself. I know it must seem weird.”

  “No probs,” I said.

  “It’s what we’re here for,” said Reuben smiling. He hastily dried himself off and we went to find our horses.

  There was still no sign of our hostess, but to be honest I wasn’t surprised. Like a magical character from a fairy tale, Lady Tsukii seemed to belong to the night and the moonlight. But our encounter with her had noticeably changed Tsubomi’s mood for the better.

  As we rode through the dazzling snowy morning, she chatted away, seeming almost like her old self; just so long as we kept everything light.

  Considering that Tsubomi still fiercely denied she was a musician, she had extremely strong opinions on the subject. It turned out she adored hip-hop, which pleased me (I’m the original heavenly hip-hop chick, as you know!). But if you asked her how she was so well-informed about Earth music, she said evasively, “Everyone knows this stuff, it’s just like, in the air.”

  “Sure it is, they play hip-hop constantly in Limbo,” I muttered.

  Reuben gave me his look: like, she’s getting there. Give her time.

  Eventually he and Tsubomi got into this weird conversation I couldn’t make head or tail of. Reuben asked if Tsubomi had ever tried listening to silence. (I know. To you and me, “silence” means you can’t hear anything, right?)

  “Not just silences in music,” he explained earnestly. “Any time you feel stressed, just try focusing on the gap between ordinary sounds. Say you’re in a huge city with constant traffic noises, emergency sirens, pounding car radios, but you let it all wash over you, because you’re totally concentrating on that gap. It helps you stay calm when everyone else is stressing.”

  Tsubomi gave him a look of utter suspicion. “You’re talking about Earth. But I don’t live there now. There’s no stress here. It’s beautiful and peaceful.”

  “And sad,” I said softly.

  “Life is sad,” she said, quickly turning away.

  Tsubomi didn’t speak again for some time.

  Towards the end of the afternoon, we came to a frozen lake, fringed with weeping willows, and spanned by a narrow footbridge

  Snow had turned the bridge into a feathery fairytale construction like something spun out of frozen cobwebs. On the other side was a palace of pure ice.

  Tsubomi suddenly seemed pale and strained. “The P
alace of Everlasting Sorrow,” she whispered, as if the wind had just breathed the name in her ear.

  “We must go inside,” she told us in a trembling voice. “There’s something I have to do.”

  Reuben and I tethered the horses.

  “I think she’s getting ill,” I murmured.

  “No wonder with these vibes,” he commented grimly.

  As a former human, I still tend to assume that any strong emotion belongs to me. As we made our way gingerly across the dazzling cobweb bridge to the Palace of Everlasting Sorrow, painful emotions hung in the air like ice crystals. I was grateful to Reubs for reminding me that these feelings strictly belonged to Level Three.

  Crunching through deep snow we eventually found ourselves at the palace gates.

  I’d tried to brace myself for this, but it was still distressing to see the guards standing frozen at their posts. One of them had the sweetest face. I saw Tsubomi swallow. She really shouldn’t be that pale, I thought.

  If anything, the palace was chillier inside than out. The walls gleamed with ice, and the air literally smoked with cold. A vast central hall was crowded with frozen servants and lords and ladies, all fixed into rigid poses. Tsubomi’s hand drifted up to her face. I realised she was on the verge of fainting.

  “Stay here,” I told Reubs urgently. “I’m going to find somewhere she can lie down.” Every nerve ending in my body was telling me that Tsubomi’s time was running out. Yet her immortal soul was still adrift in a world of pure make-believe, bracing herself to battle imaginary ice demons, or whatever.

  Tell you one thing, if I hadn’t been so upset about Tsubomi, no WAY would I have had the courage to explore that palace by myself. Frozen or not, some of those Japanese noblemen were v. scary, the type who’d have you executed for, like, sneezing in their vicinity.

  The ladies’ quarter of the palace was disturbingly like a scene from an oriental version of Sleeping Beauty. Beautifully dressed and made-up ladies were frozen in the act of playing board games, untangling children’s kite strings, arranging chrysanthemums, even picking their teeth! Two teenage girls peeped shyly round a lacquered screen, looking just as if they’d heard me coming, the rich colours of their kimonos dimly showing through the ice.