Work Text:
Hanakotoba
(Chapter 1: The Medicine Woman)
The people of Aomori call her the Medicine Woman.
Perhaps not directly to her face, for the older generation were superstitious and cautious about matters of the spiritual realm. They were still firm believers that spirits can, and will, punish those that besmirch their name, their memory, and their possessions. It was only apt that those favored by the spirits were revered in some ways. Respected through distance if they so wished it. They only sought her counsel when they found themselves troubled by the spirits.
((Asakura-sama, please, my son… My son is ailing… !))
The younger ones, although respected her deeply, were more preoccupied with the sudden rise of technology that swept their entire nation after being bereft from war. Spirits to them were the products of the older ones’ follies — a belief created so the children would sit still, eat their vegetables, and sleep early. With technology came new opportunities, new discoveries. They were slowly forming bonds with people from other cities, even worldwide — people who had the same mindset as them and not those that have already passed on. With technology, they were provided facts, not fiction, and that was more interesting than those invisible things that bumped in the night.
((Ma, I’m fine, it’s just a cold. Ma… Mama, stop bothering Asakura-sama! I am so sorry, Asakura-sama, my Ma is such a worrywart… !))
Still, her powers were known and valued, even to those who held jurisdiction over their little town. They knew when to leave her alone and when to seek her guidance, and when her phone rang at three on a snowy morning, she was hardly surprised. Irritated, because her sleep was disturbed, but not at all shocked. She listened to the call, not bothering to soothe the man on the other side, and promised she would check on it.
A click. A sigh. She requested an aid from one of her inn’s spirits to fix her hair.
By 3:25, Asakura Kino set to the local orphanage, the strange brewing in the air serving as her compass. The spirits that roamed the town were more than helpful. They liked the old woman, for she held them in the same reverence, and they too felt the dissonance that was slowly forming in their quiet terrain. They regaled her with stories as she went, and Kino lent an ear as these spirits told her of a child with sunlight hair and pale skin. Like a little doll, one said, that was dropped off and forgotten by her owners.
One of the ghosts, a young lady by the name of Handa Fuji, chimed in about how this little girl could see them too, but didn’t acknowledge them.
“Like she was afraid of us…” The ghost said in that thoughtful but youthful voice of hers. Kino understood. They always were afraid because they were taught to be afraid. These children just didn’t know any better, and she told the ghost as much. Fuji hummed. “Are you going to teach her not to be afraid of us, then?”
The other ghosts sounded thrilled by this suggestion. Kino slowly shook her head.
“I am not sure yet.” The itako replied. “It will depend on her skills.”
This declaration soured the almost-building festive mood the ghosts around her were emanating, but Fuji remained ecstatic. In fact, Kino could almost hear the glee in the teenager’s voice when she said, “Oh, you will! I can feel it!”, and Kino couldn’t help but smile.
Little Handa Fuji wanted to be a singer, a beaming icon to everyone in Japan, as she once said. She was quite spoiled by her family, for she was the youngest and the only daughter with two older brothers who both fought in the war. Her brothers never returned, and it broke her mother’s heart. It ended the life of her father. But Fuji held onto the belief that they were only lost. She would sing for them, she told Kino on many occasions. She would sing for them, on a beautiful stage with sparkling lights and a cheering crowd, and they would return! They would come home finally and they would be together again!
But an accident brought that dream to a sudden halt, and when Kino first met Fuji, it was at a steep hill by the border of Osore Mountain, her cries piercing the old woman’s pity. It was also because of this that Kino never had the heart to tell the girl about her mother, about how the woman took her own life too the moment she learned of her daughter’s tragedy.
((If you stay here any longer, you will lose yourself. Come with me. You wanted a stage, don’t you? ))
By the time Kino arrived at the orphanage in a huff, she knew more of the situation than what she was handed during that frantic phone call. She made a beeline for what was once the house’s tatami room, thankful that a steaming mug of tea was already prepared for her. She distinctly heard the footsteps coming her way, her ears perking further when the shoji doors creaked open, and someone who introduced herself as the “mother” of the orphanage took the seat across from the itako.
Chibana Yura was born and spent her whole life in Aomori. Kino knew of her because of this. She had five kids, one who died early due to tuberculosis, while the other four set out to Tokyo to find better lives. Her husband was a police officer who met his end from an altercation with his equally drunk buddy and Chibana-san scrounged what little she could get from her husband's pension to raise her children. These days, her kids helped with her finances, but she must have missed hearing the little pitter-patters of feet in her hallways, for she converted her house to an orphanage years after all her children had gone.
There was a brief pause, the “mother” mulling over her words. Kino waited. The woman was clearly distraught, and the Asakura elder didn’t need her eyesight to come to that conclusion.
There was also a weariness in Chibana-san’s voice when she told Kino the story of this little girl, a lingering tiredness in her huffs that spoke of a mother who tried her best but failed. Kino deduced this was a feeling Chibana-san was used to, but was still struggling to adapt to. Still, Kino had to hand it to this woman. She tried her best. That was enough.
Now it was Kino’s turn to help the child. She reassured Chibana-san, and with a few more words, the orphanage’s matriarch slowly led her to the hallway leading to the children’s room.
“There’s the girl.” Chibana-san whispered, perhaps even pointing to where the little child was, completely forgetting that the older woman next to her was blind. Kino didn’t mind one bit. “Her father almost dropped her by the bridge, but luckily I was there. I was gathering wood, you see, because we were running out, and I saw him dragging that poor girl. He said she was the devil, but I didn’t believe him. She looked so adorable, I just couldn’t, I—”
“Worry not, Chibana-san.” Although it was a reassurance, Kino’s voice was firm. They must have stood a few feet away from the child, as the anomaly that Kino felt was at a distance, but it was evident that the child must have still heard. The aura that surrounded her had turned hostile before Chibana-san had finished her sentence, hissing for the woman to try and continue her trail of thoughts, and that intrigued Kino. If she needed more information, she would have to seek the child’s trust first. “I can take it from here. Go and herd the other children to another room.”
There were kids who were staying in the same room as the girl, but because they were all awakened by this child’s antics, they all huddled themselves in a corner, probably wide-eyed but definitely sniffling. Kino heard Chibana-san calling to them and didn’t move to approach the girl until the thudding footsteps stopped and a click was heard on the second floor.
Kino sighed to herself, letting her cane sound as she approached to give the little girl some notice that she was coming. The spirits that stayed to help Kino let her know that the child was sitting on the bed, her little hands pressed to her ears, but she was also looking up.
An acknowledgement. A welcome for Kino to try. She will have to.
“Hello.” She heard a scuffle. ((The girl just hid herself under her blankets, Fuji whispered.)) Kino clicked her tongue. “How am I supposed to help you if you resist my offer, little one?”
The child mumbled something that was incoherent to Kino. Like Kino, there were spirits hovering around the girl, serving as her mouthpiece because she was still wary of the older woman. One of these spirits hissed at the itako, telling her that their host found her suspicious. Kino almost laughed.
“You can see them, can’t you?” She motioned for her own set of ghosts to circle her and the child. Those that accompanied Kino were quick to follow her lead, their souls materializing to balls of wisps that beckoned the child to interact with them. Those that surrounded the child squawked. “Not many people can see ghosts these days. It is quite an ability you have there, child.”
The bed creaked. ((The girl is poking her head out from her fort ! Oh, she’s so cute!))
“I don’t want it.” She spat. “I don’t wanna see them or hear them. I want them away!”
The squawking turned louder, fiercer. Guttural, like a beast on a prowl.
“How old are you?” Kino suddenly asked to change the topic. She didn’t like that when the girl spoke of her feelings, the spirits that flew around her turned into a ball of energy just above her head, like an amalgamation of hatred and regrets. “You sound quite young.”
“I don’t know.” Judging from her muffled voice, she must have wriggled back inside her blanket. To Kino’s dismay, the souls that went with her on this visit were quick to distance themselves from the girl, afraid of that pulsing energy that was slowly coating its host with its poison. “I just want them to go away. You can do that, can’t you?”
“The spirits? Of course.” With one wave, the ghosts that were with her all disappeared despite their worries. They knew the girl was trouble, could feel she was a burden despite her age, but they had to believe in their town’s Medicine Woman because there were no other choices left. “There you go.”
She expected a gasp of awe. She was met with a vexed huff instead.
“I can still hear them.” A pause. “I can hear you too. Who’s Yohmei?”
Shocked, Kino almost dropped her cane. She hadn’t spoken about her husband to the child, had she? Of course not, they only just met! But how would she know his name? What did she mean when she said she could “hear” them? The ghosts certainly weren’t whispering anymore. The entity that was engulfing the child was hissing, that was true, but something told Kino this wasn’t the one the girl was talking about. Did she mean voices in her own head? Voices from those who were not in their realm, maybe? Or did she mean…?
Kino found her throat was suddenly dry.
“What’s a Reishi?” More silence. “If you know it, can you also make it go away?”
She had the same abilities as him .
((It is told by the stars. He is coming, and he will use our daughter as his vessel.))
Kino wasn’t sure just yet that this was Reishi in its earlier years, but it was a possibility. A huge one. She wasn’t just a burden now, she had the potential to be a threat. This girl must not fall to other hands, especially his, and Kino will have to make sure of that. Even if it meant her own life would be on the line.
“I cannot.” She said, finally. She had to be honest. The girl deserved that, with all she had been through and would go through in the future. “What I can promise you is a home far from the voices and a skill set to control your abilities. Other than that, I cannot help you.”
She thought of Yohmei, and how he was training their grandson for a destiny the boy could not escape. She thought of her daughter Keiko, and how she had to distance herself from her child because she knew she would have to lose him early. She thought of Mikihisa, who was in constant training these days because he was guilty for all the things he had to do and had failed to do. She wondered if she was equipped with the same tenacity to hone another student under her wing. Yohmei would because he would find an opportunity with this girl, a counterattack against him if their grandchild couldn’t make it. Keiko would, because she yearned for a daughter once upon a time, and this little girl before Kino would have made Keiko the happiest she had been since...
Since…
((And if they are twins, what will you do, Yohmei ?))
((Do we even have a choice, Kino?))
She played with the idea of calling her older student to come and help, but Anna was surely caught in her own world right now. Her student’s last letter was of her setting to the world of fame and the limelight, and Kino was certain this little girl would not be comfortable with that. The ability to read people’s hearts was, after all, a curse — a never-ending suffering to its user who would be plunged by the humans’ avarice, envy, and anger. To put her at the center of a crowd with Anna will only mean her death, even if Anna was a capable shaman.
Kino would have to take the wheel. There was no other choice. Could she, though? She couldn’t even stop him even at his weakest. She couldn't even protect the other one. She couldn’t possibly handle another child.
((I’m sorry, Keiko. I’m so sorry.))
((It’s fine, Mother. We had no choice.))
Yohmei and Keiko could handle this responsibility, because they had the Asakura blood flowing in their veins. They were, at their very core, shamans. Capable shamans, like her Anna. They were more resilient, more flexible to what the spiritual world were to throw at them. They were built differently.
But Kino was not a shaman, not naturally like her husband and her daughter.
She was like Mikihisa, whose spiritual capabilities were dormant until tragedy struck them. Mikihisa had to beg for money, constantly finding his stomach rumbling for food before he met and eventually married Keiko. Even then, he had to fight tooth and nail to be accepted in the Asakura Family, to be a part of this cursed family all for the sake of love. Kino had to completely lose her sight for her power to blossom.
Was she going to lose another part of her if she took this child?
Was she even taking her? She could run away, like Mikihisa did. Phone her family and have Keiko come and pick the girl up. That was what Mikihisa did with his own student, wasn’t it? She could come by and visit occasionally, train the girl if need be, but everything else would have to be taken care of by Yohmei or by Keiko.
She couldn’t possibly…
((We almost killed a child. I almost killed my grandson…))
Then, she felt it. A hand, shaky and tiny, reaching for her wrinkly one. Kino had met it halfway, her hand engulfing the little one’s reassuringly. The girl sobbed and Kino felt like crying too, but for many different reasons.
“Can I come home with you?”
The child had chosen. Who was she to deny this plea?
Kino nodded.
By the time the sun was peeking out from the clouds, Kino had the child glued to her hip while they waited for Chibana-san to finish packing what little belongings the child owned. Chibana-san was enthusiastic by the result of Kino’s visit, though she did have her worries.
“Who will take care of both of you?” The woman wondered. Even then, she was stuffing the backpack with the child’s clothes, the sound of its zipper closing a finality of some sorts. “She’s so young, and you… you’re…”
“I have help. You can also come by and visit her if you want to, Chibana-san.”
“Can I really?”
“Of course.”
“Well, if you put it that way…” There was a pause as the woman seemed to think over something. Then, “Let me at least take you and the girl back to your inn. This bag is quite heavy!”
“And the other children?”
“They’ll be okay! The others are old enough to look after their little siblings, and I already told them I’ll be escorting you two back to your home.”
Kino nodded.
Even Chibana-san knew that the girl would go with the itako. Or maybe Chibana-san hoped she would. It was hard to tell, but this mother truly cared in her own ways. Kino was sure now that Chibana-san would be a frequent visitor in her inn, sooner or later.
“She likes dango.” The girl murmured so only Kino could hear. She was still holding the older woman’s hand, her other arm wrapped around Kino’s sleeve. “And she likes her tea really sweet, too.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” A hum. “You never told me your name, little one.”
The girl shook her head — Kino felt the movement against her arm — and that was the end of their conversation. Even Chibana-san didn’t know the poor thing’s name because when Kino asked, she said that the child’s father had been too much in a hurry to abandon her to even care for a name.
“What am I supposed to call you then, child?”
“I don’t know.”
“We will have to see, then.”
Pretty soon, there were whispers around their town, one that told of a story that the Medicine Woman had taken another orphan under her tutelage. This time, it’s a girl with sunlight hair, they said, followed by buzzing murmurs and entertained laughter. They remembered one of the Medicine Woman’s students and her infectious cheerfulness, and they wondered if this new child would be the same.
The people of Aomori call her the Medicine Woman.
They do not have a name for her new ward just yet.