by T. Isilwath
Her scent was clean. In fact, he could tell that she had bathed recently, and her hair carried the perfume of flowers. There was a very faint blood-smell on her, but it wasn’t strong enough to be of any concern. She had probably scratched herself or pricked a finger. The oddest thing about it was the scent itself. He’d never smelled anyone who had a scent like hers. Her blood scent was completely different from any other human he had ever encountered, and he didn’t know what to make of it.
She also looked different from any other human he had ever seen. Her skin was a strange color, tan from the inside and not from the sun, and tinted more brown than yellow. Her face was oddly shaped, much longer and thinner than he was used to seeing, with high cheekbones and a strong chin. Her eyes were large and round, not slanted like the humans he knew, and she had thick eyebrows and long eyelashes. From what he had seen of the rest of her, she was tall, and her fingers were long but blunt-tipped. The only thing familiar about her was her hair color. It was black, but very thick, and she had weaved it and tied it with a strip of cloth in two places.
Strength emanated from her even in sleep. This woman was a warrior, not a simpering weakling who screamed and hid behind a man. She was the type the female samurai were made from; strong fighting women who were almost as formidable as their men. He remembered that she had shown no fear of him, and he also had a dim memory of how she had saved him: swift and deadly in her strike. She hadn’t killed the exterminators, though. Of that he was certain.
If Johrannah was a mystery, then her shelter was even more of one, and he exercised his natural curiosity by exploring. He could see the signs of gathered belongings everywhere, probably scrounged from wherever she could find them. He even saw the exterminators’ nets piled up at the back of the hollow.
There were some things that were completely alien to him; like a strange metal rack with straps on it and a weird rectangular pack with little things that rolled on the bottom. If he didn’t know better he would have said they were wheels, but they were too small to be of any use. The pack was heavily imbued with Johrannah’s scent so he knew it had to be something that was hers. The material was black, but tightly woven and thick, and it felt slightly rough to the touch. There was another pack that was hard to the touch and felt like leather stretched over wood, but it was shaped very strangely. It looked a little like a body with a very long neck but no limbs or head. He had no idea what it was, but the carrying strap had been decorated with beads and braids of colored rope. It, too, smelled heavily of Johrannah.
He also got a good look at the book she had been using. It was huge and heavy, and the binding was alien to him. It looked nothing like the sewn books he was used to seeing in the temples and in his grandfather’s house. His mother had taught him to read (in secret of course) from books that had been hand-sewn with thick paper covers. These covers weren’t paper; they were hard and thick and felt like leather. Plus the paper sheets inside felt funny and the ink had a weird smell. He saw some symbols that he recognized, but that was as far as he progressed because he couldn’t read any of the other script at all. He closed the cover and put it aside so he could continue exploring.
He found the animal skins he had remembered her wearing the first time he had seen her. They were light colored leather, roughly cut and sewn, and they smelled of deerskin. When he touched them, they were very soft and the texture surprised him. The top part was like the short kimono she was wearing: one piece that slipped over her head, and the bottoms were leggings that tied at the waist. They looked worn but well cared for, and they smelled of animal blood so he determined that they were the clothes she wore when hunting.
Near the entrance lay a pile of weapons. There was a spear that smelled heavily of fish, some very fine, almost transparent thread that had been coiled around a wooden spool, some metal hooks that looked like they could be used for fishing, a bow and quiver of arrows, two daggers and a huge knife with a thick, slightly curved blade and a black handle. Also near the entrance were pots, a flat, heavy pan with shallow sides, and the teapot. Lastly, he found a huge brown cover made of slippery smooth material that had been placed in a way that it could be draped over the door.
The more he explored, the more confused he became, and he had so many unanswered questions. Who was she? Where had she come from? Why was she alone? Was she a holy woman undergoing some kind of training? But if she was, why did she risk her purity by consorting with him? Even if they did nothing inappropriate, he was certain that her superiors would frown upon her being alone with a half-demon. And why did she not speak his language? Did she come from a far away country at the other end of Japan? Could she be a member of the ancient Ainu tribe? The legends said they were tall and wore the skins of animals, although he had never actually met one. They lived on the islands far to the north, and he had never been further north than Echigo.
He needed fresh air, and also to relieve himself, so he crawled out of the hollow and got his first look around. His suspicions that she was a holy woman were supported by his discovery that the hollow was in a sacred grove of Sugi.
The shrine, offerings and prayer streamers might have been removed, but the wardings remained and the area was unnaturally pure. Demons venturing close to the grove would sense the protections and veer away. As a half-demon, he felt the tingle of the wards but wasn’t overly bothered by them.
She had made a fire-ring with stones and there was a grate of metal over part of it, presumably used for cooking. The fire had burned down to coals, but he could still feel the heat. Nearby, a white rope had been strung between two trees for hanging laundry, mostly sheets of cloth and washed bandages.
‘Wrappings and bedding she used for me when I was sick.’
His nose led him to her waste pit and he used it, feeling much better now that his bladder was empty, then he followed his nose to a nearby stream, washed his face and hands, and took a drink. The water was cold, but pure, and it tasted very good. He hadn’t realized he was thirsty until he had smelled the water, and his body suddenly started clamoring for relief.
Needs of the moment satisfied, he returned to the grove and sat by the dying fire. The night was warm, but not oppressive. Full summer was on its way, but had yet to arrive in force. Soon only the dark, deep forest or the coast would offer relief from the sweltering heat, but for now it was comfortable.
He also noticed that the moon was approaching full. He didn’t need to see it to know where it was in its cycle. The power of his demon blood waxed and waned with it, never going below a certain level but cycling in a pattern that matched the moon phase. When it was full, he was at his strongest and weakest when it was dark. Now that the moon was almost full, he could expect his healing powers to increase to their peak, and his wounds would be fully healed within another two days.
He yawned, his body reminding him that he was tired and weak from his ordeal, and perhaps brooding wasn’t the best thing to do. He’d already felt the weakness in his limbs when he was moving around, and his belly wound also throbbed a little. It had been the worst of the three, and would understandably take the longest to heal.
‘I still can’t believe that she sewed me up…’
Turning his head, he looked in the direction of the hollow. His nose told him that his rescuer was still within, and his ears told him that she was still sleeping. The source of his confusion seemed blissfully oblivious to his presence, and he wondered why she couldn’t feel him. He knew his demon aura was reduced, but he still had one, and any holy person should be able to detect him. If she was truly a miko-in-training, then she should sense him unless she was too tired. Remembering her exhaustion, he decided that was a possibility.
‘You’re exhausted too,’ his mind reminded him.
He nodded, acknowledging his weariness.
‘And there’s a bed in there waiting for you. A real bed with blankets and a soft mat. What will Johrannah think if she wakes and you’re not there? She’ll think you were rude and refused her hospital
ity.’
‘But I’m a half-demon. She has no reason to be nice to me,’ he argued.
It was true. His strange rescuer had already shown him more kindness than he’d known in many, many years.
‘She must want something from you. That’s the only reason she would save your life and tend your wounds. She must have a use for you and she will ask you when you are healed,’ he told himself.
‘But what would someone like her ask of a half-breed like me?’
He shuddered. He could think of a lot of things someone might ask of him and many of them were things he wouldn’t want to do. Owing a life-debt to someone was tricky if the person you were beholden to decided to abuse it.
‘No sense worrying about it now. It’ll be another couple of days before you’re well again. You can try to figure out what she wants from you later. In the meantime, you’re tired and she has prepared a bed for you. Don’t be rude and ungrateful,’ the logical half of his mind reasoned.
‘She did seem to want me to stay and I smelled no deceit on her.’
‘Exactly,’ his logical-side smirked.
He sighed. He could probably sleep now. He was very tired, and he knew he needed the rest.
He made his way back to the shelter and quietly slipped inside. Johrannah didn’t move when he came in, and he went directly to the bedding she had given him, burrowing under the blankets. The bed was soft and almost sinfully comfortable, but he knew that it wasn’t his place to second guess his host, and he was sure that he would eventually find out her reasons for treating him so well. Whether or not he would like her reasons, or regret owing her his life, was yet to be determined. For now, he was warm and felt safer than he had in a very long time. The thick, brightly colored blanket smelled of her, and the scent was comforting as his eyes grew heavy and his body relaxed. He fell asleep to the sound of her heartbeat and gentle breathing.
Chapter Four
Joanna woke just after daybreak, and it took her a moment to recall the events of the previous night. Her fox’s fever had broken and he was going to be okay. That meant she had to go fishing and start the morning meal. Now that he was going to recover, rest and food would become all the more important.
She slipped out of her sleeping bag quietly so as not to disturb her guest.
‘Akihiro. His name is Akihiro,’ she reminded herself.
Peering over to the place where he ought to be, she smiled when all she saw was a lump completely covered by the blankets, and she imagined him all curled up underneath.
‘Sleeps like a fox too.’
Her movements must have been too loud despite her efforts to be quiet, because she had no sooner taken a step towards the entrance when he burst out of the blankets in a blind panic. He jumped so high that he almost hit the low ceiling of the hollow, and she gasped when he barely missed it. He landed, crouched on all fours, eyes darting in fear, and she stayed very still in an attempt not to provoke him.
“Daijoubu,” she soothed.
He turned his head to look at her, eyes blinking, then she saw the tension in his shoulders relax as recognition came to his face.
“Johrannah-sama,” he replied, saying her name in that strange way of his that added an “r” to the pronunciation.
She also noticed that he added the “–sama” suffix that implied deep respect and identified her as being above him in status. She knew that the Japanese culture was heavily based on rank, and giving proper respect to those above you was very important. By calling her Joanna-sama, he was essentially giving her the title of “Lady” or “Miss,” and he was telling her that he believed he was below her on the social scale. She wasn’t certain how she felt about that, but likened it to how she would treat a stranger with formal politeness until she got to know the person. Once Akihiro became more familiar with her, he would probably drop the suffix or replace it with a more casual one like “–chan,” at least she hoped so. She didn’t think she would like being called Lady Joanna all the time.
“Hai,” she said, confirming that she was indeed who he thought she was.
“Sou ka,” he breathed. His eyes slid away from hers, and his face grew thoughtful and reflective. “Omoidatta.” She nodded. “Ohayou.”
He blinked at her as if her greeting surprised him, then finally answered,
“O… Ohayou gozaimasu.”
She looked at him, feeling slightly frustrated. There was so much she wanted to ask him, so much she wanted to communicate, but she didn’t know the words. She knew that her classes had only taught her the most rudimentary basics of the language, and that conversational Japanese was very different from what she had learned.
Simple things she took for granted in every day conversation were now beyond her. Had they been in her time and spoken the same language, she would now ask him if he was hungry, if his wounds hurt him, and if he had slept well. She could find out what he would like to eat for breakfast or if there were things he couldn’t or wouldn’t eat. But she could do none of that. She could only fumble ineptly with the dictionary and do her best to make herself understood.
She had known that her Japanese would be a problem, but she had been depending on her host sister to help her. She had never imagined that she would ever find herself in the situation she was in now. Akihiro had probably never even heard of English, let alone spoke any of it, and her dictionary only gave her nouns, verb forms and common phrases. It wouldn’t tell her how to string a sentence together so that she made sense, or how to speak such that she wasn’t being offensive. She could only hope that if she apologized enough for how poorly she spoke, he would forgive her if she made mistakes.
Her insulin pump beeped. The internal glucometer always signaled an alarm when her blood sugar dropped below 90, and then would not administer insulin until the level had come back up. She knew she had a limited amount of time to eat, and that made playing seek-a-word in the dictionary a problem if she wanted to get cooking any time soon. To make matters worse, Akihiro had heard the beep and was looking at her with his ears straight up. He looked adorable actually, like a cute puppy with his ears perked to catch the slightest sound. If he cocked his head to one side, she wasn’t certain if she could keep from laughing.
“Nanda?” he asked.
She shook her head and gave a little helpless shrug. “Gomen. Sukoshi shika nihongo wa hanasenai.”
“Wakatta.”
“Doumo Arigatou.”
He then shocked her by moving forward, reaching over to her dictionary and pushing it towards her.
“Arigatou,” she told him, picking it up and opening it to look for the words she needed. “Onaka-ga sukimashita. Asa gohan o taberu?”
He blinked at her and she sighed, flipping through the book again. “Tabemono o taberu.”
“Tabemono. Hai.”
She nodded and moved to pick up her fishing spear. “Sakana?”
“Un.”
“Yoshi.”
She put on her boots, took the spear and her hunting knife with her, and left the shelter. She wasn’t expecting him to follow her, but he did and she led him down to the stream. She was headed for her favorite fishing place: a large shallow area where the water was clear, and she could easily see the fish swimming beneath the surface. It was early morning so the fish should be biting, and when she saw a good-sized striped fish come into range, she threw her spear. Flipping the fish out of the water, she tossed it onto the bank and killed it swiftly, thanking it for its sacrifice.
“Sugoi,” Akihiro whispered as she gutted her catch.
to a woman doing the killing. Japanese culture was very patriarchal, and he might have had a problem with a female hunter. Judging by his obvious surprise and admiration of her fishing spear prowess, she gathered that male chauvinism, at least where hunting was concerned, would not be an issue.
She needed one more fish before she would have enough for breakfast, and she tried to see through the water to where the bigger fish hovered in the deeper pools. Movement to her left caught her attention, and she spied a rabbit flushing from under a bush. Akihiro saw it too and he moved faster than humanly possible. Instantly he was on it, grabbing the fleeing animal and breaking its neck.
“Sugoi,” she said in approval. ‘I hardly saw him move. He’s so fast.’
He blinked at her, looking a little afraid at first, then shyly smiled back and offered her the rabbit from where he was crouched.
“Arigatou,” she thanked him, taking the rabbit and saying a prayer.
He answered by gasping a little and placing a hand on his lower abdomen.
“Bujika?” she asked.
“Ite-e. Ite-e,” he replied, sitting down on the ground.
“Baka,” she admonished gently.
“Sumimasen,” he apologized, his eyes wide and contrite.
“Ii yo.”
He sat back and let her pull aside his clothing enough to make sure that no blood was staining the bandages.
“Daijoubu,” she said with a nod as she finished inspecting and wrapped him back up.
“Yokatta.”
She picked up the rabbit and smiled at him. “Sugoi.”
