Chapter Text
In all of Banba’s short life, he had never strayed this far into the woods.
The villagers were wary of the mountain. Banba only knew this from the hushed whispers uttered by his parents and neighbors when they thought he and the other children weren’t paying attention. They spoke of the demons and gods who made their home within the wilderness with fear and respect, going so far as to make the grueling trek to the nearby temple whenever the season called for it.
Banba was never truly one to take heed of these warnings. Even as young as he was, he preferred to see dangers and proof for himself before he considered altering his behavior to avoid them. Consequently, he had more scrapes and bruises than most of the other village children combined, but his sense of curiosity and keen observation skills had also afforded him a larger understanding of the world around than of anyone else his age.
Of course, that didn’t stop his parents from constantly scolding and punishing him. He’d lost track of the number of times he’d been forced inside to help his mother with chores when the other children had been freed of their tasks for the day and were playing in the fields.
Today, however, was a slightly special, since the adults had given the children of the village the day off from chores. Everyone had congregated near the community’s well, but Banba had elected to slip away and head for the mountains.
The rumors and whispers that sparked fear in the other children only served to fuel Banba’s curiosity. He’d spent the several previous weeks meticulously planning and daydreaming about exploring the mountain, and today, he had finally been confident enough to try it.
Jumping a fallen log, Banba stopped and tied a small string to a low hanging branch of the tree next to him. They would serve as markers, to make sure he could find his way back. It had taken a while to collect as much as he thought he’d needed. The adults had dismissed it as a child’s passtime.
The vegetation had been thicker than he was expecting, making his progress slow, but despite the fact that he was in entirely new and potentially dangerous territory, he felt at ease. The air felt crisper, and the dull murmur of voices that was ever present in the village was replaced with the songs of the birds and insects, occasionally accompanied by the quiet rustling of unseen creatures scuttling away from him. The mountain itself felt almost alive in a way that his village never did, and it gave Banba an addicting feeling that was equal parts relaxation and exhilaration.
After wandering deeper into the woods for some time, the ground beneath him gradually began to incline more and more, until he reached a point were the ground abruptly shot upwards at a daunting angle. Inspecting the slope, Banba wasn’t exactly sure he could make it up.
He followed the edge of the incline for some time, and grew more and more annoyed when it showed no signs of easing and no paths up the side made themselves obvious to him. Unwilling to turn around entirely, Banba stopped at a point where there were slightly more plants growing from the rock and dirt of the incline than normal. He figured he could use them to help pull himself up, and going back should be as simple as a controlled slide down.
Banba slowly edged his way up the rather steep slope, but even with his painstaking pace his footing was too unsteady and he had nothing substantial to latch onto. It was only a matter of time before his foot slipped, causing him to feel weightless for a moment before slamming into the mountainside and tumbling downwards until the slope evened out beneath him.
He groaned and didn’t move for several minutes. The pain brought tears stinging to his eyes, but he refused to actually cry. After laying there for some time, most of the pain faded to dull aches that Banba was sure sure would result in a colorful array of bruises.
Except for his right ankle.
He pushed himself up into a sitting position, every jostle of his ankle sending pain shooting up his leg. He frowned at it, then tested it by lightly putting weight on it and attempting to stand.
The appendage buckled almost immediately, sending him falling back to the ground.
This time, he did cry. He let the tears fall unabated, his wails temporarily drowning out every other sound in the forest. This, fortunately, only lasted for a few minutes before his cries tapered off to soft sniffling. Red faced and bleary eyed, Banba tried to come up with a plan of action.
If he was gone for long enough, then the village would likely organize a search party to find him, but given that the sun was still directly overhead, he wasn’t sure how long that would take. None of them would know to follow the string to him, either, or that he’d even gone up into the mountain in the first place. The villagers, his parents included, may be too superstitious and fearful to even look for him here.
For now, at least, he would need to try and rely on himself to get home. Glancing around the forest surrounding him, he tried to find a stick of the right width and length to help him walk.
A soft rustling of the greenery at the edge of his vision caught Banba’s attention. He whipped his head around, only to just barely see a blur of gold dart back into the ferns surrounding the base of a nearby tree.
Banba stilled, watching the spot. Curiosity currently outweighed his need to return home, for the moment.
After several moments, a small snout poked its way out from the undergrowth. Holding his breath, Banba watched as the creature crept out from its hiding place.
As carefully as he was watching it, it stared back at him with an even greater regard. Its entire body was tense beneath golden yellow fur, and it was slightly larger than most of the foxes Banba was used to. He was fairly certain the average fox didn’t come in amber, so this must have been one of the mountain spirits the adults spoke of.
Vaguely, Banba wondered if he was about to be eaten.
The fox took another step forward, and on instinct, Banba raised a hand out to it like he would a frightened dog. It was supposed to be a gesture of goodwill, but the fox flinched back and darted halfway back into the ferns.
Banba blinked and dropped his hand, forcing himself to remain still again.
Slowly but surely, the fox reemerged from its hiding place, creeping forward until it came to a stop a few feet from Banba. It kept its gaze firmly fixed on him, but made no move to do anything else. It almost made him think it was waiting for him to do something.
Banba frowned. At the point, he was pretty much certain that this wasn’t a normal fox.
Again, the fox high tailed it out of sight, making him sigh. He had been expecting a little more, but he wasn’t exactly sure why. Now, he should focus on trying to find a walking stick…
“Don’t make me regret this, human child.”
Banba’s head snapped towards the voice, and to his utter shock there was someone half hidden behind the same tree that the fox had been using as a hiding place. The person’s hair was long, golden, unbound, and framed a face with soft, almost delicate features, which made Banba assume that the other was a woman.
She half-glared at him, still not moving from her place behind the tree. One hand rested against its bark, her nails biting into it, and he could only see half her face as she watched him. Banba thought it was almost laughable that she, an obvious adult, seemed almost scared of him, an injured child.
“Um… miss? Are you-”
“I’m a man.”
Banba blinked. “Oh. Okay.”
The man snorted, then slowly slipped out from behind the tree. Banba almost immediately noted that his clothes were odd, colorful and layered in a way that he’d never seen before. Still, the red and amber were nice colors that weren’t often seen outside of the autumn season.
The man approached Banba carefully, then knelt next to him to frown at his angrily swollen ankle. “What are you even doing this far up the mountain?”
“Exploring,” Banba answered automatically.
“That’s stupid,” the man scoffed. “And dangerous. This mountain is full of spirits that would love to eat children like you.”
“There are actually spirits up here?”
The man massassed his temple as though he were dealing with a headache. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to right now?”
“So you are that fox. That makes you a fox spirit right?” Banba asked, more excited about the idea than he had any right to be. “Hey, can you do anything besides change into fox? I’ve heard fox spirits like to trick men. Is that why you look like a woman?”
“Shut up!” the man snapped, his face taking on a red tint, though Banba wasn’t exactly sure why. “Haven’t your parents taught you any manners at all?!”
Banba nodded. “They have, but you’re pretty rude, too. You haven’t introduced yourself yet.”
“Neither have you!”
“But I’m a kid!”
“That’s no excuse!”
“Yes, it is!”
“It’s not,” the man huffed, “But I’ll only tell you my name if you tell me yours first.”
“Zenji Banba,” he answered.
The man shifted on his feet, nervously shifting his gaze between Banba and the forest floor before mumbling, “...I’m Lin.”
“Nice to meet you, Lin,” Banba replied, grinning.
“Yeah, whatever.” Lin shifted so that he was facing away from Banba, back exposed. He was confused for a moment before the man thrust out his arms behind him and ordered, “Get on.”
Banba hesitated for a moment before carefully scooting his way over to Lin. He yelped as the youkai scooped him up, leaving him to momentarily scramble to grab the other’s shoulders, before he was comfortably settled onto Lin’s back. He was surprised at how mindful of his ankle the fox spirit was; he hadn’t once jostled it or otherwise caused Banba undue pain.
Lin started walking, following the incline of the land downwards. “I don’t know the way to your village.”
“I tied string in places,” Banba responded. “So I wouldn’t get lost. If you follow them when you see them, it should take you back to the village.”
Lin tilted his head back to look at Banba out of the corner of his eye. “That’s surprisingly clever.”
“Right?” Banba smiled, proud of himself.
“Why are you doing something stupid like this, then?”
Banba’s smile faded instantly, to be replaced by an indignant frown. “Hey! It wasn’t stupid.”
“What part of going into the mountains on your own isn’t stupid?” Lin asked, rolling his eyes.
“I left string to find my way back.”
“But why come here in the first place? Aren’t humans scared of this place?”
“Well, that’s just it,” Banba piped, “I didn’t know why everyone was so scared. I thought that it might be for no reason, but I wanted to see for myself.”
Lin was quiet for several moments, as if contemplating Banba’s answer. As they walked, a branch brushed along his leg, and he glanced around them. The towering trees and sprawling foliage looked unfamiliar, but he noticed a small white string hanging off one of the nearby ferns. The sight eased him, and his trust in Lin affirmed itself a little more.
“This mountain is full of things that children should never meet,” Lin said. Banba craned his neck to try and see his expression, but the fox spirit’s face was hidden behind splayed golden hair. “You shouldn’t come back.”
“But-” As soon as Banba opened his mouth to argue, Lin’s grip on his knee tightened just to the point of almost being painful, but no farther. It loosened again almost immediately.
“Don’t back talk me, human,” Lin warned. “Do me a favor and quit talking.”
Banba fell silent, his cooperation inspired by the ice in the fox spirit’s voice. Instead of conversing, Banba observed the scenery as they passed it. Distantly, he could hear birds chirping and bugs buzzing, and occasionally the sound of a small animal scurrying across the forest floor. Everytime the wind blew, the trees sung their own song as they swayed and their leaves rustles. It was a peaceful atmosphere, but it was also utterly desolate of people, words, laughter, and tears.
“Doesn’t it get lonely here?” Banba asked.
Apparently startled by the sudden question, Lin tripped on a root and almost dropped him. Thankfully, he recovered quickly and resettled Banba securely on his back. “I want to be alone. Besides, there are plenty of other annoying spirits to beat up.”
“Are you friends with any of them?” Banba pressed, “Or do you just fight everyone?”
“I don’t fight everyone… but I don’t intend to make friends.”
“My mom says that friends are really important,” Banba recalled, reaching forward to poke Lin’s cheek. “You should get friends! It’s not good to be all alone.”
“Trusting another person like that seems like a good way to get betrayed, to me.”
Banba frowned. “That’s dumb.”
Lin made a low growling noise that a human should be incapable of making, and when Banba saw his eyes as Lin looked back at him, the man’s pupils were thin slits, similar to the stray cats from the village.
“Drop it, human,” Lin warned. “If you weren’t a child, I would have made you pay dearly for those words. You should consider thinking before you speak.”
Banba shrank back, but that was difficult when Lin was holding him and there was nowhere to go without tumbling back and hurting himself.
At his obvious show of fear, Lin’s eyes softened and returned to their more human state. He let out a frustrated sigh before saying, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have taken it that far. But what I said stands. Don’t just say whatever’s on your mind.”
Banba relaxed slightly, then nodded. “I’m sorry, too.”
“It’s fine. I’ll consider them the words of an ignorant child and forgive you,” Lin replied.
“You shouldn’t threaten people, though.”
Lin snorted. “Said like a true human.”
“What does that mean?” Banba asked.
“You humans are quick to scold others, but you never listen to your own words,” Lin explained. “It’s annoying.”
“But what do you know about humans?”
“More than I ever wanted to, actually.”
Suddenly, before he could give Lin’s statement a proper verbal response, Banba was unceremoniously half-dropped to the forest floor.
He shot Lin a confused glare as he turned to face Banba before speaking, “I can sense humans nearby, so this is where I will leave you.”
He wanted to protest, to try and get Lin to stay and talk with him more, but worried, far-off shouts of his name caught his attention. Realizing that his parents and potentially the other villagers had braved the mountain, despite their fears, for his sake brought grateful and relief-filled tears prickling to his eyes. Not wanted to embarrass himself, he quickly scrubbed them away with one sleeve.
He went to thank Lin for his help, only to realize that the spirit was no longer standing next to him, nor anywhere in sight.
-/-/-
Banba was whisked into the irate but safe arms of his parents as soon as he was found. His father carried him the rest of the way down the mountain, his child rested in one arm and scared incense burning from a hanging stand in the other. Meanwhile, all in the same breath, his mother sobbed words of relief and promises of punishment if he repeated this stunt. He spent a week resting inside as his ankle healed, and then spent another week inside doing chores as his penance.
Ignoring both his parents and Lin’s warning, the moment they and the other villagers relaxed their vigilant watch on him, he made another trip up the mountain. This time, he was careful and didn’t stray nearly as high, and he returned to the village before his parents were the wiser. The next time, as he was more familiar with the way, he went farther. Each trip he covered more distance, and each trip was equally in vain.
The only words he ever spoke during these trips was occasionally shouting Lin’s name. The fox spirit never answered.
He wasn’t sure what drove him to keep going back, but his father’s stories of humans and youkai alike falling into despair and becoming vengeful, evil things may have played a part in it. Every time he heard those tales, his thoughts wandered to Lin, alone and angry in the forest, with bitter words that spoke of betrayal and loss on his tongue. He imagined what Lin would be like, corrupted beyond recognition, and wondered if that was the man’s fate and if his interference would even change anything.
Unfortunately, he was never able to find closure to these thoughts. He visited the mountain again and again, but never once was he able to meet Lin. His adventures grew more and more infrequent as he grew older and older, and by the time he reached his adolescence, he only traversed the forested mountainside two or three times a year. As an adult, only once, and only for the sake of nostalgia and an inkling of remaining curiosity.
He never expected to meet him again, and for two decades, his life progressed. And then, when he was just a few years from entering his third decade of living, he was proved wrong.