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Teal moss coated the tree trunks hedging the path.
They were parasites consumed with hunger and they clung to the shade, ignoring the two-legged beast strolling by, opting instead to greedily suck on the trees’ sap. There was an empty desolation about them, succulent and ravenous, which Sakuya disliked. They made her think of painful days and a deep, unabating hopelessness. If she could find a way, she would have long since eradicated the lot of them, but their roots sank too deep and they spread too quickly, expanding outwards in rings which girdled the maples they preferred to infest.
Sakuya was walking along a path which was less path and more thinning trail of stunted grass. No others trod it and it had brought her to the closest village, where she could obtain the luxury goods her mistress demanded. Among the packages she carried, canisters containing tea leaves had been her main goal. They had never managed to grow the desired type on their property – Ms. Patchouli suspected the low altitude and colder climate was at fault – so every so often, Sakuya would be sent to pilfer a couple batches. The journey to and back was long and tiring and being in the forest always put her in a dark mood. She preferred to stay out of it as much as possible, which was unfortunate when their residence was in its heart.
It wasn’t always so bad though, even if the trek wore her down. Birds sang to each across unbridged gaps; that was an ordinary blackbird, there was a woodpecker. She envied their energy. She pushed through more brush before deciding it was time for a rest. She found a tree which looked decently free of moss and sat with a relieved sigh. The packages were laid at her side. Her trusty dagger, metal qi stored within, was stuck into the ground and its chain looped around her wrist like a bracelet. Its sheath hung empty on her belt.
Ward in place, her head thunked against the bark and her gaze went upwards. She was sure to look a sight if anyone were to come by, she thought with careless amusement, inelegant and not befitting a servant with a mistress as noble as hers.
Noble.
Noble, noble… She turned the word in her head.
She had felt her mistress was noble from the beginning, like the sugar maples which towered above. Childish at times, but unwavering and fearless. Sweet and fierce and charming. As for herself…
Bright sunlight filtering through the late autumn canopy made her feel dizzy. Dust and spores (she had forgotten it was the briar moss’s sporing season) spanned the air like a gauze veil floating in and out of sight.
As for herself…
Sakuya stared at discolored green ringing a tree. The wind ruffled it and made it look as if it was reaching out for her.
She closed her eyes.
As for herself, beasts’ blood may as well have run in her veins at that time. She had been hollow, so very hollow…
Lulled by the warmth and fine mist of spores, she fell asleep.
It was approaching evening when she woke up and the sky was a swath of metallic grey. Her watch told her more than an hour had passed. Tea canisters clinking at her waist, she stopped time and hurried home. The dagger was gone, although she did not notice.
She turned uneasy as she approached the mansion.
Briar moss had never grown on the wall before. Neat, earthy bricks composing the mansion’s outer walls were choked by a sea of turquoise. She stopped short at the iron gate, which was also weighed down by corroding moss.
To be greeted by this sight upon her return was unwelcome. She stretched out a hand. Briar moss was soft on the surface, rough and unpleasant when pressed, almost spiky, and a sticky secretion made it feel like her fingers were being dragged into its maw. She shuddered and ripped off the filaments congregating over the lock. It was possible she could use it for her cooking, but even the thought of ingesting its twisted fur made her feel ill.
Meiling was nowhere to be seen. This late in the day Sakuya knew it wasn’t her time to rest. Unlocking the gate, she entered the main grounds and found the mansion entombed in silence.
No breeze blew to carry off the decapitated orchid heads lying on the ground; no ants shifted from the craters punched into their nests. The area had been ravaged and even Meiling’s precious flowers hadn’t been spared. Frozen in the air was the smell of upturned soil, a taste of desperation.
Someone had come by.
Sakuya moved forward mechanically. There was a dull thrum in her head, an unrelenting pressure which built the longer she held time constant. (… … …)
Her eyes flicked to lines soaking into the earth, red and wet. Briar moss was already gorging itself on them.
Someone had attacked the gatekeeper.
Straight ahead was the mansion, her home. (was it? A voice questioned.)
That someone had not been her.
A sensation passed through her, cold and familiar as death’s caress.
She felt nothing.
Past the flower beds, past the spurting fountain, closer to the scarlet walls, the fight’s disturbances remained visible. Sakuya idly wondered how Meiling managed to tear up so much earth without stopping the intruder. She noticed a gnarled tree split almost in half by a careless impact. A fledgling had fallen from the tree’s crown. Its parents were crying soundlessly, beaks unmoving. Her heart softened. She cradled the little one in her hands and returned it to safety. There they were, three blue jays gathered in the nest.
She said quietly, “If only someone had done that for me.”
There was a lurch and time rippled into being.
Something, or someone, makes contact with her ward. Its--their presence is forceful, like the sea contained in a bottle, and the familiarity chills and warms her.
Birds twittered off to the side, scolding and grateful. At the bottom of a short flight of stairs, right outside the entrance, a woman clad in meadow green lay facing the sky. Red pools radiated from her ribs, bleeding into a shape which Sakuya thought resembled daffodils. Her pale blue eggshell eyes were glassy. Sakuya bent down. She didn’t seem to be breathing either.
“That won’t do, Meiling,” Sakuya said.
She unfolded a blanket and draped it over the gatekeeper. It turned a deep crimson. She then unwound the scarf around her neck and pillowed Meiling’s head with it.
“If you keep sleeping on the job the mistress will fire you.”
For the finishing touch, almost an afterthought, she smoothed down the gatekeeper’s eyelids so that curtains fell over her unseeing gaze.
She said, “You’re a good gatekeeper and storyteller. I still have more to learn from you.”
Huge double-paneled doors swung shut. The last trace of Sakuya vanished from the mansion grounds.
The world reverted to grey. It twisted like hammer-beaten iron, folded in waterfalls poured over the scarlet building. It encompassed forest, cities, and stars. For just a few moments, a second, an eternity, the mansion was all that existed.
An eternity was all the servant needed to brew a pot of tea. Chamomile, Ms. Patchouli’s favorite. She stirred in a pinch of brown sugar and inhaled the delicate steam. A cast-iron kettle simmered by the fireplace, pensive as dusk.
It said, “You should not be here.” The sound was rusty like a dying man’s cough.
Sakuya opened a cupboard.
It said, “Death follows you like a cloak.”
Sakuya hummed when she found the silver loading tray. She arranged the teapot and cups to balance the weight properly.
The kettle said no more, only grumbled as she emptied its remaining contents into the sink. She had a delivery to make.
Lifting up the platter, as Pan Gu held the heavens, she took her burden towards the library.
Sakuya walked with elegant speed, not so fast that it was ungainly but not too slow to cause unnecessary delay. She passed by vases smashed against the floor and paintings sliced in half. With time halted, she could see their broken corpses glittered; it was good her weekly dusting and polishing wasn’t for nothing. She was satisfied with the sheen reflecting dim rays off porcelain shards and smeared paints, mirrors behind which a forgotten figure kneeled in acceptance of a swinging fate – until a red light intercepted its doom.
Beneath her skin, beneath her bones, buried deep in the organs outside her flesh, the barrier surrounding her cracked, and wings approached to carry her away, gently, as they would a sleeping child.
She stopped in front of her favorite painting, which hovered in the corridor as if it had always been waiting for her. Some decades ago, her mistress had taken an interest in oil painting, and this drawing was the final and only fruit of her labors, one which the servant had hung prominently in their main foyer. A red-tinted mansion stood out among clumps of verdant leaves, unshaded by the fair maples with spindly, knobby extensions which grew at its periphery, but dared not intrude. Her mistress had painstakingly rendered four figures within the mansion grounds. Caught in the moment, framed for a frozen instant of time, there was a red-haired gatekeeper with fierce eyes and crossed arms (there was, a voice whispered, there had been), glimpses of purple robes and a cap entering the residence, a sparkle of rainbow mischievously skipping back from her pursuer, and the pursuer, hair touched with silver, calling and holding out a parasol.
Her heart lightening at this depiction of home (home? a voice echoed, disbelieving), the servant made to brush her fingers across the canvas, the misshapen lines and unproportioned bodies – but she jerked her hand back instead. Blood was forming where briar moss had pricked her, and as she watched, viscous, burgundy splotches appeared over the canvas, expanding outwards as red wine would soak cloth. Tainted, impure, as everything which she associated with became.
Disappointment clamped onto her, heavy as an otter-fur cloak. Why wasn’t there anything she could keep? (Why isn’t there anyone who wants you?) She remembered her first training group talked to her politely, never truly smiling as they would with each other. Why was she cursed, metal-marked? (Why do you live?) Why did she keep trying? A reckless move, dashing into melee range for the kill, but she needed the resistance of muscle against iron, the tearing and rending, the neat dissection under her guidance.
Why are you –
Why is –
Why –
Why
Sakuya groped for the knives strapped to her thigh and cleanly sliced through the vandalized painting. Its severed halves fell apart (another treasure, gone, a voice said. now what do you have to live for?), crashing to the ground unceremoniously.
She paused in front of the library doors, expression blank besides a slight tightening of the lips.
Then tea platter still expertly balanced, she went inside.
A sour bitterness pervaded the air, though she did not react to it as she moved forward. It came from the musty, decaying books, their magical secrets covered in rat excrement; it came from the mold-caked shelves, their boards rotting to slime; and it came from the elemental carcasses strewn about, their material forms lacking the qi which once sustained them. Sakuya stepped over a crumbled golem and reached the center of the enormous chamber. There, a large rectangular desk had been placed, covered with stacks of paper which dissolved at the slightest touch. And there sat a skeleton wearing a striped, violet gown and lilac cap, skull lolling backwards.
Let it never be said Sakuya approved of Lady Patchouli’s every fashion choice. But it was not her place as a servant to voice such opinions.
She cleared the workspace best she could, saying, “Your tea, Lady Patchouli.” With perfect elegance, she placed the cup by the chanter’s bony hand and poured the tea, a flowing waterfall of honey.
Time was thickening, like syrup pooling in a saucer, deep fog rolling in to cover the bookshelves and vaulted ceiling, until what were left was a girl who looked to have just reached adulthood, a fancy skeleton, and open tomes splayed across the desk. Sakuya examined the tomes. “Are you conducting new research?”
From what she could tell, brushing aside the illegible sections, the books were all about humans, what a human was—compared to an ape for example, how humans acted without thinking by trusting instincts formed by their society, why humans killed others, and so on. Besides the explanatory tomes, other volumes were open with underlined pages.
(Whispers, “In time we hate that which we often fear.”)
(“Thou shalt not kill.”)
(“Witches are burned at the stake.”)
“Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster,” she read aloud, flipping the page. The next page was blank. “This passage is incomplete, Lady Patchouli. There’s another part. ‘And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back at you.’ Well I don’t think I’m any worse off for it, do you?”
Midnight wings relinquish their grip on her, gently placing her in a cocoon of white. She thinks she stirs, missing the churning waters and not wanting them to leave, but their bearer exits. The next battle is for her to fight alone.
(“How do you know that?”) Someone behind her said.
She replied, turning, “Because that’s what my experience has shown me.”
The fog had dispersed, and now her mistress’s throne room occupied the space, a maroon-dusted, velvet-padded throne playing center-stage. Chunks of stone had fallen, leaving a gaping hole in the ceiling, and moonlight spectated on the encounter between a servant and a young girl with harsh eyes. The familiarity of her steel-blue tunic, and black, loose leggings made Sakuya’s heart clench, as well as the room’s clogging scent of upturned earth and hollow despair. Briar moss crawled on the marble floor and rubble.
“That has to be a lie. The abyss consumes me. I will never be rid of it. How could you possibly be okay with that?” Wings clumsily unfolded behind her and Sakuya’s gaze slid down in surprise. Behind the girl, her mistress was face-down, unmoving. There were two black stumps where her wings should have been. She would need blood once she woke up, to regenerate them. Did they have any type B left?
“You stole milady’s wings. You should return them before she goes looking for them. She gets angry if someone takes her possessions.”
Silent as a hunting cat, the girl leapt off the throne step, her borrowed wings lifting up and flopping down limp as a fish. Lifeless, just as she was. In a flat voice, she said, “I hate humans.”
Sakuya said, “I’m sure you do. I used to also. The way they look at you with those cold, disgusted eyes. It’s frightening isn’t it?”
“I did everything they asked me to. I killed every monster they put in front of me. I never disobeyed my parents or the hunt leaders.” She made a sweeping gesture, passing over the mistress’s bedroom off to the side and the rainbow shards shattered around its entrance. To Sakuya, “Is this enough?”
“I am not your judge. Now excuse me, please move aside so I can attend to milady.”
A knife flashed by her head. Sakuya half-crouched into a fighting stance, reaching for her holster. “My favorite dagger.” The familiar handle did not meet her grasp. “Must you do this every time? I’m tired of going through this facsimile. There’s nothing left for me here!”
The girl ignored her, proceeding as if she had said nothing. “You’re a monster. I hate monsters. I hate humans. And you are the only one left in this vile hole!” She charged, attempting to freeze time. Sakuya countered by resuming it. They moved at the same speed, throwing knives at one another.
“You’re not alone in time manipulation here.” Sakuya veered from her route, dashing straight for the girl, batting away the knives directly ahead. As if aware there were more from behind, she spun to face backwards. The girl braced for an impact since Sakuya seemed to be too engaged with the knives to avoid ramming into her. But instead, she did a backflip, flying over the girl’s head. With precision, two knives cut away where the wings had been attached to the girl’s shoulder blades.
Her side braids swinging, the girl tried to stab the servant. Sakuya sidestepped, and faster than the eye could follow, drew a single stroke right below her ribs. The girl staggered, blood pouring out between her fingers.
“I win by first blood.” Sakuya gathered the discarded wings, touching their delicate membranes. “And that is mine.” She held out her hand. As if pulled from the other’s grip, the dagger curved towards her in a smooth arc. She caught it, palm closing over the well-worn handle, with its stains she had never managed to clean.
The girl’s shirt was almost sloughing off and Sakuya felt pity. The shirt was already tattered as it was. Her double’s voice was soft, barely rising above a breeze’s whisper, “When will you kill me?” The open ceiling must be airing out the place; the clogging atmosphere was receding.
Sakuya breathed in deeply and replied, “When you’ve betrayed your purpose.” The dagger slid smoothly into its sheath.
“You know I do not have a purpose.” She watched Sakuya ascend a step and turn her mistress over. Her mob cap was missing, revealing messy curls. The servant sat against the throne and stroked her hair, untangling knots as she came across them. Underneath the tea and blood, her mistress always smelled like dried muer mushrooms. She wondered if she did too.
“Then who are you?”
From the young girl’s crimson-painted hand, a drop landed on the ground. Its ripples upturned floor and earth. “You know I do not have a name.”
“You were given one.” Outside, a nightingale and frogs croaked in disparate harmony.
The girl looked smaller and smaller, shrunken, face chubbier. With a child’s insistence, she said, “In another life but not for me. Not me.”
Sakuya arrayed a wing to each side of her mistress. She walked over. “Come, let’s lie here together.” A lavish woven rug caught them and cushioned them from the floor. They were lying down, the open ceiling above, and the sky was exposed to them. “Look at the moon and the stars. They’re the only natural light milady can be under.” She stretched an arm upwards. “They’re the only light I love.”
“They look like pinpricks of silver, curls shaved off an ingot.” The other girl reached up too. “They’re so small, it seems if I moved my hand, I could brush them all away.”
Sakuya flipped her right hand to reveal her palm. “You see? We do share the same purpose.” On her palm was tattooed a plain crescent moon. A spike pierced its midline without touching it.
The girl twitched before she slowly sat up. “Sakuya, do you think I will ever die?”
Sakuya placed a hand on her shoulder. Damp hair and wet coin scented her, but underneath she thought she could detect traces of dried tea leaves. “No, you won’t. Someday I will, but you never shall.”
She was fading. Butterflies peeled off her skin. “If I am swallowed by the abyss, will someone find me?” She was already disappearing into a flock of butterflies, blue and etched with white points. One rested in Sakuya’s palm.
Sakuya watched it with fascination. “Yes, the abyss will find you.” It was gone.
Sakuya laid back down. She was exhausted. For some time she laid there, enveloped in unclear thoughts. She was startled awake when the door creaked open. Her body was unpleasantly warm and her throat scratchy. She shifted uncomfortably and opened her eyes.
Diminutive in height, clad in a knee-length white dress, the mistress of the mansion was by her bedside. She said, “Sakuya.”
“Milady!” Sakuya fumbled around her dresser. There was her watch and it was- She must have slept through the entire afternoon and night. “I’m sorry, I must have overslept. If you’ll give me a moment, I can prepare your breakfast.” She could grab a glass of water at the same time.
“That’s unnecessary. I’ve already eaten. Stay there.” Remilia sat on the edge of her bed. Sakuya obediently let her place a hand on her forehead. Her touch, cold as the sea depths was refreshing. “Your fever’s gone down, but I’m ordering a day of bed rest. Do you know where I found you?” There was a chiding undercurrent to her tone and Sakuya smiled at how their roles had reversed.
She played along. “No, was I running errands in the village perhaps?”
“You were in the middle of the forest, catching up on your beauty sleep. Not that you needed it.” Her mistress’s hand cupped her cheek, chilling her, and Sakuya shivered, but stifled an urge to giggle too at how she was trying to be suave. “The parasitic moss was trying to break your ward. It would have swarmed you if I hadn’t arrived. Hey.” Sakuya opened her eyes, alarmed at the uncharacteristic urgency in her voice. Her scarlet irises were dry though. “You know your human body can’t handle them, not with your history of despair. Don’t do that again.”
“I’m sorry, I should have been more careful.”
Remilia’s fingers continued to stroke her.
They heard Patchouli chasing after some mischievous fairy maids in the hallway, threatening them with disintegration as they giggled and ran. Garden fountains gurgled outside the window. But for all that time moved on outside, the hourglass seemed to stand still for them.
Her mistress said, voice soft as duckling down, “You know Sakuya, when I first met you, you weren’t anywhere near as lively as you are now.”
Sakuya flushed. “Yes, although it is an honor that you know so much of me, it is quite embarrassing too reflecting on how I acted back then.”
Remilia’s gaze pierced her, narrow, feline pupils burning their image into her mind. “Silly Sakuya. There is nothing that you could hide from me, and nothing I would find that is not wholly lovely. How you were then was but a prelude to who you are now.”
The fever must be making her brain addled. She wanted to… What did she want to do? Burning longing in her gut resonated with her burning head to cause her dizziness. The hollowness in her heart which never stopped periodically coming back ached. “Mistress,” she managed to blurt out. “Could you come closer?”
“Huh?” Remilia said. “What for?”
“An innocent reason. Please fulfill my humble request.”
Grumbling, her mistress acquiesced. Her thumb idly caressed Sakuya’s cheek as she looked down, brow creased in confusion.
Sakuya gazed into scarlet eyes and wondered: what did she see in a human like her? That night suffused with the full moon’s glow, what had her mistress seen in a miserable pile of skin and bones who had tried to kill her?
Unbecoming as it was dressed only in a nightgown, she extracted her arms from the covers and extended them outwards. Within the view formed, her mistress’s wings flared past the boundaries of her arms. She was overpowering. Always stretching Sakuya’s horizons.
“May I give you a hug, Milady?”
Those eyes which had always looked unflinchingly at her scanned her face before Remilia’s mouth curled upwards in a smirk. “What indiscretion, Sakuya. But I shall allow it. You may.”
As her arms wrapped around her mistress’s back just below the nubs her wings sprouted out of, Remilia turned her head towards Sakuya’s ear. In the quiet voice she reserved for them, she said, “When did my maid become so weak and soft? Don’t forget that you are responsible for protecting me.”
Her wings protectively enveloped both of them.
A sudden burst of strength surged into Sakuya’s limbs.
“I would never forget, Milady.” Gray replaced the blue in her eyes as the demonic mark gained strength. “You are my purpose.”