Tales Of Grimea (16 page)

“I’m sorry, father,” said he softly. His
father didn’t seem to understand that ‘mild mannered’ and
‘Skittish’ came hand in hand for some.

“Well, there’s no use telling you to make
this the last time.” His weathered face cracked, exposing a smile
of sorts. Gurei’s father didn’t do that often, and the boy almost
smiled back in gratitude. Instead he looked to his right. He and
his family lived on a small hill, overlooking rectangular mirror
like patches of water. Each was long and wide, and villagers made
their way between them using the green grass roads created when the
rice paddies were first dug out. To their right was a forest of
bamboos rising up, curving slightly as if tired from a long climb.
Gurei knew that the forest held more variety, although none really
knew how far it stretched and none dared tread too far. Far behind
the forest, darkness reigned. The boy knew that a tired sun would
eventually start a painstakingly long climb, but that he was still
too early for that. “Well, come on.” With those words, Yukihira
made his way down the hill. “You were late, so no real time for
breakfast. Your mother gave me this for you.” The tall but slightly
hunched over man pulled a rice ball out of a pocket as he walked,
showing it to the boy. Gurei could looked behind, to where his
Katou was saying goodbye to their mother. He waved, and she waved
back with a wide smile, although the woman looked tired. Far in the
distance behind her, something flew amongst the clouds. Gurei could
not be sure if it was a bird or something else. Nobusame came to
mind, and he averted his eyes quickly, lest he see the face upon a
nobusame’s back and be cursed. Maybe it was something good and cute
like a fairy or Tennyo. Gurei blushed, knowing that even if it were
a Tennyo, it wouldn’t be as pretty as Natsumi. It was impossible
for anyone or anything, even an angelic yokai, to be as beautiful
as Natsumi. Of course, anyone who saw a Tennyo feeding on a rat
would hardly be able to consider them beautiful anymore.

The boy made his way down the hill more
carefully than his father and brother did. Despite doing this for a
good many years now, working every morning had done nothing to
improve Gurei’s feeble constitution. Despite his litter containing
only two pups, there was no doubt in his mind about which was the
runt. Whereas Katou was lean but hardworking and their father
strong if sporting a beer belly, Gurei’s twenty years of existence
left him looking more like a bamboo stalk than anything else.
Still, he was worked as hard as his brother, and as the sun began
to find its way up the sky’s canvas, his breath began to catch in
his throat. He and his brother had the task of walking around a set
area of rice paddy, picking out anything that was getting into the
soil and making sure all the plants were growing straight and true.
Spending hours stooped in that manner can get into a man’s back, as
Yukihira Midoriya had demonstrated with his permanent slightly
askew stance. Pain lanced and throbbed slowly through the boy’s
body.
Come on,
he urged himself, seeing his brother parallel
to and ahead of him.
You’re a man now. Do it for dad. Do it for
the village.
Sweat beaded his scrunched up forehead, and his
breath came cold like stalagmites dropping through his body.
Don’t drop, not yet.
He could see his father doing harder
work with the heavy rusted shears. It was always Gurei who dropped
first. His constitution was too different from a healthy boy’s.
Twenty years of wishing couldn’t change that. Shadows flitted
inside his mind, reminding him of every time his body let him down,
whispering weakness. He wasn’t smart, nor was he strong. For those
who had nothing else in their favor, perseverance was the only way.
Mrs. Kitsune had said so, trying to cheer him up once.
Don’t be
useless.

“Boy, weed patch to your left. Don’t get
sloppy now!” The words came as if from far away. A rare spot of
reflected sunlight in the water below blinded the boy as he turned
his gaze left, seeing the patch. He stepped towards it and fell
face down into the water. His father glanced upwards, towards the
mostly dark sky above, trying to gauge the time. “Yip, that’s about
when he usually drops. Break!”

Gurei remained in a haze as he was hauled to
his feet by strong arms. His father grumbled in his ears, and
although he couldn’t figure out what was being said, the boy knew
that it was something about him. Of course it was, for he could
barely keep up with children five years his junior. The sky above
looked like rain, he thought, but didn’t say anything as he was
plopped down on one of the paddy’s grassy outskirts. A cloth and
rice balls were shoved into his hands, and he was unable to
determine if he wanted to eat them or bury his face in his hands
with shame. In the end, the boy wiped his wet face on his sleeve,
sniffed, and began to eat with more enthusiasm than was normal. He
kept his eyes down, lest a tear escape them.

A sound of sloshing came towards him slowly,
and then a plop. Gurei looked to see his brother next to him. “Hey,
buddy,” he said gently.

“Hello, Katou,” answered the older brother,
trying to put some cheer into it.

“I hope you didn’t hurt yourself falling.
Dad can be a bit rough, but we really can use all the help we get.
You’re doing well. Can’t miss uncle’s deadlines, you know.” The
words sounded hallow. Gurei knew that every bit of help was needed.
That was the only reason a useless muss such as he was tolerated.
He could feel villagers on other parts of the paddy eyeing him with
disdain. He could sympathize with them.

“It’s all because of uncle,” he said, words
burning hot.

“Yeah. If he hadn’t gotten those paddies,
we’d be way worse off.”

“No. It’s all because he doesn’t pay well!”
Gurei’s brother gasped at his outburst, although it was still
delivered in hushed tones. “Just because he lucked out in Yotaku
with what little he got when grandpa died doesn’t mean he’s better
than us.” Much like the empire and large glamorous city, their
uncle had forgotten his roots and wanted only riches. Gurei hated
it, as did any sensible person. The settlements had lost much to
Yotaku’s expansion.

Katou looked at his brother. “Don’t talk
like that. He’s older than us. He’s successful. Smart people are
successful, and smart people figure out when someone hates them. We
have what we have because of his grace.” Further to the side, Gurei
glimpsed Natsumi eying them. Beautiful Natsumi with her shoulder
length hair. Usually seeing her calmed him, but not when he looked
this pathetic.

“Grace! We pay rent for our shack. We do all
the work and he gets most of the money! And we go to visit, I see
how he looks at us. If he’s so smart,” he spat out, “Then how come
his daughter is as dumb as a brick? She’s a pig!”

His brother, always happy, gave Gurei a cold
look. “His daughter was born wrong. Sympathy is what that poor girl
deserves.” He didn’t say it, but with that last glance and the way
he leapt into the rice paddy and his work, Gurei understood what
he’d meant.
I of all people should understand what it’s like to
be born wrong.

Naturally, the rest of his morning was spent
in hard work with intermediate breaks. Katou did not come back to
talk to him for a while, but he was too good a person not to
eventually check up on his older brother. For his part, Gurei
mumbled and said everything was fine when he was asked, but he was
born with a fragile heart. The darkening gloom above, usual around
this part of Sehkai, mirrored his heart in an uncanny manner. He’d
let the ever-present hurt inside him out, aimed at someone who
didn’t even deserve it. Gurei wanted nothing more than to crawl
into his bed like a miserable creature and never come back out
again. He didn’t understand why he was so different.

The boy had always been angst ridden, but
brief flashes of happiness were tucked away within his childhood.
The memory of being carried upon his father’s shoulders at a Niner
festival, watching explosions light the sky, still had a strange
warmth to them. Nowadays he just felt out of place, like a thorn
stuck where it doesn’t belong. Every day, his own worthlessness
would haunt him, waiting for the inevitable failures like carrions
circling above a bloody feast.

That day, relief came in the form of
Natsumi’s closeness. Old lady Sakasha had died the week before, and
today was Natsumi’s turn in rotation at the woman’s old spot.
Gurei’s heart lurched with the glee of her being so close. He tried
to talk to her, for they’d known each other since their childhood.
However, the pale girl with the shoulder length hair was a fast
worker, and so he gave that up after an initial greeting. “It’s
fine,” he wheezed as she shrugged. Her eyes, curved like a mountain
was, burned with dark concentration and focused on the work at
hand. Gurei wished only for money so he could make her happy. It
pained him to see the way his uncle hoarded golden ring coins. If
he were like that, cute Natsumi would never have to work a rice
paddy ever again. The thought made his heart throb, and it staved
off the dark numbness lurking in his mind.

At midafternoon, Gurei was allowed to leave
the rice paddy. He splashed off the watery mud, wiping off sweat on
his sleeve. It wasn’t the best of days, so the boy asked permission
to rest before going on to his second job. His father looked him up
and down, but agreed. The man was distracted, Gurei saw. When he
followed his gaze, the boys saw trails of smoke in the distance,
coming from behind horse drawn carriages. They were coming right
towards them. His father spat in distaste, and Gurei knew he
thought these may merchants coming from the north east. Distrust
was rampant against those who came from those parts, for they might
be mixed with those from the northern continent of Jerr, or even
the island savages in between the two continents. Leaving that
matter, the boy went into his father and mother’s cottage, where he
was greeted by the smell of fresh dumplings. For a second they
brought good memories, but as Gurei ate, his nostalgia turned into
wishful remembrance.
It doesn’t really matter,
he finally
thought.

“Is something wrong, child?” asked his
mother. She had been a slender woman, Gurei had been told, but had
turned hard and bellied with age.

“Nothing, really. Well, it’s just…” He was
twenty years old already, and didn’t know anything about what he
wanted to do with his life. It wasn’t like he could work the farms
well. He couldn’t read and write too well either. No skills,
hobbies, nothing except wasting time and going into the forest. He
didn’t fit anywhere. There was gaping hole inside him, fertilized
with worry and fear, with the only fruit to show being
self-loathing. “I’m just worried about the caravans coming
here.”

Gurei’s mother was naturally accepting of
others, but had a strong dislike for those coming from the north.
“Hope they just don’t steal from us,” she muttered darkly.

When Gurei finished his meal, he went out to
his other job. Being feeble, he’d been often sent into the forest
to stay out of everyone’s way. He liked to pick whatever got his
interest, and one day a wizard who happened to live in a nearby
village caught him grasping a bluish sort of nut. “Bring me three
sacks of those each month, and I’ll pay.” Ever since, this became
Gurei’s specialty. The wizard used it for something or the other.
Gurei didn’t really care, although Katou had prodded him to
ask.

The sky had begun to shed a few tears when
Gurei got beyond the bamboo forest. Here, the trees were large and
ominous, gnarly and close knit. Bark grew from them like malicious
growths, and the grass beneath them rose tired and sickly. The sky
above was… gone, hidden by more leaves than a thousand men could
count. Gurei walked cautiously, listening for howls, scuttles,
screams or crashes. He cursed his weakened hearing as a honey snake
slithered away from his foot. These snakes were captured and raised
for their sweet venom, which was harmless to humans for some
reason. Somewhere in the distance, a light alerted the boy to a
fairy’s presence, and he made towards it as silently as possible
for someone like him. Before he was a hundred steps away the light
fled, but he did not mind.

Fairies, for some reason, gathered near the
trees which produced the fruits Gurei was after. It was with a
small breath of excitement that the boy found what he sought: A
long slender trunk laden with tiny branches, like fingers. Each
ended in a small puff of leaves and fruit. Opening the sack he’d
brought with him, the boy filled the sack with wonder, disregarding
everything around him. The trees didn’t stay in place long, so he
had to bag as much as he could that day. For a second, he didn’t
seem quite so useless, filled with immediate purpose as he was.

The boy took to his task with too much
purpose, evidently. A crack behind him alerted the slant eyed boy
to danger, and he turned to find a monstrosity right behind him. A
Dodomeki. It screamed at him, all hundred eyes glaring at him. The
eyes covered its ball like body, and it stood on four arms. Not
knowing where to look, the boy stammered. “Eh, ah, erm…” He thought
about holding his breath, remembering the stories about the beast’s
breath. He couldn’t see a mouth anywhere.

After a second, the beast came and Gurei
ran, zigzagging his way around the trees as he tried to put
anything between him and a horrid death. Grass and trees and
screams blurred in his head as he cut left then right over and
over, praying only for a quick end. He was so terrified that it
didn’t even occur to him that his life was hardly worth the effort
of saving. It was only due to dumb luck that the monster managed to
trip on something and lose him, for with his stamina there would
have been no contest in a true chase. His bag was only half full,
but the boy whooped his survival, wheezing. Then he began to think.
He only filled the sack halfway. Filling it completely would have
gotten them that much extra money.