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Literature Text
The hair fell loose behind her in black waves clinging to the silken trails the maid thought wise to adjust although no one was watching. It travelled further than her robes as she mounted the steps. It was never cut, only sometimes trimmed on the edges. She wore it loose, let them fall, those years grown strands, the longest in the house meandered free like murky rivers. The longest in the entire kingdom. It would steal her betrothed’s eyes, so they said. It did take many men’s if not for the sleeves. Layered on one another, like pines under snow.
She mounted the last of stairs halting on top expecting the maid to withdraw. ‘The dragon calls for help whenever needed, but now, privacy calls for the dragon.’
The maidservant didn’t leave her in an instant, instead, she only said, ‘Hime-sama, ‘ and crouched to hand her a small wooden case with both hands, then bowed and withdrew from the entrance.
Her hands barely got a hold of it, and rather the item rested on her sleeves drowning in the layers though she carried it like a king his kingdom’s precious: with respect and honour.
A weathered dragon head welcomed her in the much-seen shrine and a small breeze followed her only so little to make the dangling omamori swish as if hissing aloud their prayers. She scanned the row of pouches and charms wondering how old they were. Some appeared in the shape of dragons, even cats and fish, others just hanging pouches.
The shrine lacked its own torii gate, marking the boundary between the ordinary and the area of the kami. Probably it had been destroyed by some nature’s ire or then an act of a dragon. Which way, she didn’t know, wood was so easily destroyed. Yet she still thought she felt the presence change as she stepped to where the gate normally stood and even more now inside the shrine.
Beneath her sleeve-softened steps of the nakabakama, the old wood creaked slightly its dark colour almost merging to those of the shadows cast by the faint moon sieving its way through the open entrance. She was glad it was to her back though as any other position would worsen her sight. She could barely lay eyes on the moon’s raw glare reflected on the floor, only so little did she look at it to notice it clean.
Apart from the floor, dust scattered everywhere, staining the walls, the wooden supporting pillars and bars like grey, misty hair growing at its best. It had chosen the deepest corners as its territory from which it hoarded more space to its ever-expanding lair. She had prepared to get her clothes dusty, yet there was one thing the dust hadn’t touched - or rather from which its touch had been removed.
Old as the shrine was had also the room its aged, stuffy smell. From walls to ceiling, the dust scattered. It stained the walls, supporting cypress pillars and bars, like grey, misty hair growing at its best. A thing that would arouse revulsion in most of the maids, if not even the shrine maidens, but as strange as it sounded she thought even the dust had its place. Dust was strange, like the kami themselves. It just appeared and with time gathered, but you never quite saw where it came from. She had never dared to share her own idea, that there was a creature that left it behind. It would only cause unneeded bafflement at the court, she couldn’t even think what they would think if the rumours spread. ‘Hime’-sama’s interested of dust!’ As if she hadn’t a better thing to marvel about. Of course, there were yards and yards of gardens with wisteria and plum and pine trees and many others with their fair share of plants and elements.
She shook away the thoughts. They would never understand. It was not that she despised gardens. It just fascinated her artistic side how dust changed the surfaces, touching didn’t do, of course. That didn’t feel so wonderful.
On a whim, she made up a poem.
She gave one more blink at the floorboards and then let her eyes ascend up. The floor was perhaps washed, but it was pleasing to see the place had remained as unchanged as could be. Dust gave the place its own look, a bit like yellowed scroll hand its own feel. It was her parents’ shrine after all, and had it been completely cleaned now it would feel like something was missing. The spirit wouldn’t be the same. She wondered if the deities approved with her decision.
As her red eyes scanned the place, in the back of the room, something silver flashed. She squinted, shielding her eyes, the giant sleeves like a curtain against her face. It was not often she visited this part of the palace, certainly not in the moonlight, but the festival was to come soon as was her leave. She could hardly think of it. Leaving this place behind. What would the rest of the household do, without their hime to look after to? The maids could come with her, but that was just a fraction of all the elves here.
Could she persuade her husband to visit this place ever again? Her thoughts drifted to chefs, guards all so kind towards her, and finally to the boy with red hair and her similar looking sister, she had taken under her wing. Naí-san… What would Naí do? I’ll have to find them a place as well.
And then there was the lie. How long could it go on like this? Would the prince swallow it down as well?
She shook her head. It was not normal for the worry to seize her like this, or was it anxiety? She only hugged both arms close to her chest, hoping for the motion to ease the qualms somewhat.
Recovering from her thoughts, she found herself facing the large scroll, kakejiku, its silver ends glistened by moonlight, peeking from behind the statues. The two mighty and black dragon statues - one winged, the other serpent-like - stood on its both sides as if guarding the memory of the past. It was not difficult to guess what they stood for.
She walked to the dragons, kneeling onto a square-tatami pad, laid out before them. Her robes filled up the whole space as she sat, the hair travelling further than that. She bowed, clapped her hands twice. Then bent her head slightly downward, bringing her palms together in a prayer, the left hand slightly above the right.
‘O The Kings of Wind and Thunder, pride and forever respected. From between the mountains comes your dragon carrying a gift, I pray for your attention, please accept this.’
Still holding the wooden case, she untied the small ribbon tied round it. Then, she opened its cover and lay it on the floor. The burnt smell rose from the lacquered box inside which, she picked up a small bowl and a jug full of water, then took a pinch of the black soil from the case and placed it on the empty bowl in her hand.
The dry soil dropped off of her fingers onto the dragon-painted bowl. With her other hand, she raised it in front of her and with the other brought the jug high up and poured the water on the soil.
‘Water for the plants.’ She pronounced as the sound of watered earth filled the silence. Laying down the objects before her she dug a stick from the box. ‘Fire for the cold.’ She stroked the stick’s end against the case’s hard surface. A yellow flash followed and turned into a smoky trail. It sent the warm wreaths to her nose. She held the incense as she drew a black, burnt scale from her sleeve.
‘And thunder for the days of old.’ She stretched her posture as far as her bent knees allowed and raised the scale for all the deities to see, let it shine in the moonlight, then placed it on the soil bowl, blew out the incense and bowed deep. ‘May the winds remember.’
With these words she sent her prayer to the gods and ancestors above, ending the ceremony to a bow. Perhaps, they were watching over her even now. She could only hope they weren’t too angry for how little attention this place had been given. The shame on her shoulders was greater than the mere bow could compensate. If the deities felt insulted they would show it. Perhaps not instantly, but sooner or later that was certain and her kingdom would feel their hatred in its heart and soul.
Shuddering for the dreadful image of what might come of that, she rose from her sitting pose. Silence followed another as her words mingled to the room’s quietness. You should not make haste when in touch with the spirits, new and especially old. She waited a moment longer before opening her mouth again and cast a look at the dragons. ‘The sovereign seeks an entrance behind the great and mighty. May she pass?’
Neither of the sculpted reptiles made a gesture to one way nor the other. The absence of sounds remained in the room like a sign of approval. Only the wind rustled the curtains behind her. She stepped between them.
A sight of the tremendous scroll conquered her vision. She footstepped closer and knelt before it, straightened her posture, her pose pressing on her ankles and toes as she watched. With each looks she felt herself shrinking in size. The scaled bodies and the wings of The Great had hidden it from view, as if sparing the item for those with the right to see it. But now she stood behind the deities’ back the whole wall stood unveiled for her. A kakejiku of silk fabric and so enormous in size it almost covered the entire wall, spread out high and wide in front of her, in its centre a mounted painting of a shrine that looked quite similar to this one, only this had two stories more. The structure’s open gates faced to a courtyard, its eave curving upwards, pointing at the cherry trees growing nearby. She had the strong sensation as if she should know the place but her memory stayed unaffected, plain, like field without its flowers. It happened each time she gazed at it, as if she was trying to recover a memory that wasn’t there. No matter how hard she pressed her memory, all she saw was just the painting, without memories. As if the paper wished her to not see all. She shuddered. Could some kami prevent her from seeing? What if they thought it inappropriate for her to know about the building? Though… then why did the scroll hang right over her parents’ fan? But what was it? At the same time she thought she ought to know…
Her eyes trailed along the path of the fallen cherry petals on the kakejiku, then dropping to the cypress blades, carefully bound together with black-red strings that also fell over its sides almost reaching to the floor, and painted with her parents’ images along with hers, in the middle. It was her mother’s ceremonial hiougi, it had been. Now if she was lucky, she perhaps had it wherever her spirit roamed.
The fan rested lonely on its serpentine retainer, the shape of a dragon as if it was its head adornment. The dragon had its eyes closed, depicting eternal sleep. It looked so relaxed, she felt her own anxiousness drop a little at the sight of its smooth closed lids and the ajar mouth which still had some fangs visible as if to warn from coming too close without speaking of potential thieves eager to snatch away the relic.
A saddened smile came to her lips. For guarding my parents, I am forever grateful. Although the place appeared gloomy itself, the image on the hiougi was everything but miserable.
Three elves sat in a garden. The softened glow of the moon came presenting its eerie glow as blue shimmers on the hair of a woman donned in her finest karaginu-mo, while her fingers plucked a large zither. Farther away on a pond, the koi fish swam as if dancing along with her tones. Contentment was painted all over, even within the tiniest of objects; the small birds chant their song in the rhythm of the koto, the pines’ canopies were trimmed and round-shaped like rice balls or moss; the sign of good harvest. Even the small flowers and plants with their roots looked happy, as far as vegetation counted as such.
Next to the woman, another koto stood, resting by the hem-covered knees of a younger girl. The girl didn’t play the instrument though, she noticed by the pose of her fingers. They hovered over the strings as if pretending to play it, but the girl’s attention was drawn elsewhere. An older man sat beside her looking in the same direction, head bent towards the viewer and laughing as if having a fruitful conversation.
The painting was what she imagined their afterlife would probably be. Only without her. Though it was selfish and childish to wish for them to come back.
Mida squeezed her sleeve, feeling the nails through thick fabric. She[] couldn’t even recall his father’s, nor mother’s voice. Barely their appearance… had she any memory of them at all? Other than that somebody else had immortalised. She wrinkled her brow and then let the forehead smoothen, shutting her eyes.
A strange prickling felt in her left corner as if the lash was about to sneak into the eye. She blinked and gathered herself.
She studied the girl a moment longer, hardly recognising her younger self. Black dragons flew in the red sky of her kimono, like the ones illustrated on the banners outside. And the smile, it was so, innocent. So full of life. Will I look like that on my leaving day? I don’t even know him, he has barely sent any letters.
For a while, she wondered whether it was that brilliant to have the hiougi here after all. Though maybe it was this item that gave the place its own spark, made it complete, she reasoned as the faint sweet aroma floated to her nose. Not all of her mother’s scent was lost yet but the fragrance was so delicate it was hard to distinguish the incense. She could probably never get to know her mother’s secret. She inhaled a bit longer.
May the peace forever rest with you…
The emptiness inside her grew into a hole in her heart, the words still stung though her own. Or maybe it was the reality? Her head drooped down only to meet with the kakejiku’s dusty surface. She didn’t care it now, instead leant against the painting like hoping to move to the past that way and let the joyful moment portrayed in the scroll be real again. The scroll didn’t respond to her wishes and stayed cold. She cast a glance at the floor.
What should I do? The orb is still missing…
Otou…sama? Her eyes wondered back at the man, but to her, he looked like a stranger, and then at the woman deepened in the playing. Okaa-sama?
The woman’s gaze lay on the zither. The longer she watched the stronger her playing in her mind grew. She could even imagine the note of woodwinds and percussions in the background: the hymn of their nation lost in the waves of times long past. Why was it this she imagined the woman playing? A lost tone? Maybe she had played it, indeed. It was hard to put into concrete terms, but there was something in her essence that gave her such idea. And it wasn’t only because of the clothes she wore, there was something past and distant in the woman, she could sense it.
Why can I not recognise you? Why don’t I remember?
Tears almost rose up to her lower lid as she gazed up at them, one last time. She felt the left corner wet, took a deep, tremulous breath and pushed the tear back. There were better times to mourn, as was the water of her eyes better be there than stained in the tribute of her parents; she couldn’t stand the thought of somebody else cleaning her tears. She couldn’t cause such a bother for others.
They want a strong leader, she told herself. And so she, instead, focused on the three elves watching over her, that moment when she had been the little one feeling the other two close to herself; the touch of her mother’s hands as she fiddled and brushed her bushy hair clear of tangles, the sound of her father when he laughed like he did in the kakejiku… but all she got was an empty, deep hole in her mind crying out for the memories to fill it with.
Though, soon I won’t even be…
Is he, even the right man? She regretted the thought as soon as she thought it. Would be a solely bad fortune to judge her betrothed without even meeting him, especially here, under the ever-watchful eye of her parents, kami and the Dragon.
‘A lady should worry herself with something less complicated, I trust, Mida-hime. Though if you ask my opinion, no.’
Her eyes narrowed and she twitched from her seat. Had she spoken aloud? Who was that? For a blink, she thought it was her father that had spoken or even a god, but that thought vanished quickly. The sound was not her language though she recognised the hints of Mirayae, the common tongue they spoke elsewhere. And certainly, no god sounded that. Some were perhaps pompous in nature, even commanding but this man’s voice was so… unholy, blasphemous. It lacked all the echo the deities had. And what had he called her, lady? And dared tell her what was appropriate? Head racing questions from the insult against her honour as well as her parents’, she glanced at her sides hoping to reveal the brusque stranger.
Despite being waylaid by a stranger, she made little act to show she had noticed. Hoping to save time for her to locate him. She remained seated, waiting for him to speak again.
The darkness didn’t reply immediately though. A moment and another passed until it went on: ‘there are keys to opening things and locks for securing them in. Just one cannot exist without the other, and so it is I’ve got keys but it seems your lock there is missing.’
Well, that was, certainly not what she expected to hear. She was used to poetry, but was that even a poem? More likely a riddle. I’ve got keys… but your lock is missing? My lock? What?
She shut the words from her mind for a while. Was that a distraction, after all? The stranger hadn’t even introduced himself, not to mention greeted. Or, if what he said first was a greeting it must be quite a strange world he lived in. After a while rose and turned, pretending to still be on her ritual and slowly leaving the shrine. Though had she got as far as the deities back she heard a noise, as if something was patted against the boards.
She sighed, muffling the sound to her sleeve as she drew the fan from the layers of her neckline. What if the stranger was just after her voice? Though no wooer had ever caught her off guard on a ritual, especially on her parents’ shrine! Didn’t he know she hadn’t her instrument here? Didn’t he realise this was libellous? Not only for her or her parents but all the spirits watching over this place. She wished she could get past it paying no heed, but it seemed this stranger most likely wasn’t a potential wooer, and that he wouldn’t go away before she responded.
No answer came. The speaker wasn’t willing to obey. Did he not know poems? Mida smiled cunningly somewhere behind her face: the fortune was by her side, this game she was used to playing.
Very well, I’ll find you on my own.
She had managed to fool him. It had to be so. And if the darkness-guy stayed in the shadows finding him would be easy. But right then he spoke again, sinking all her joy.
‘A dragon of shadows wishes to see the moon though its blinding. A teapot might not be hot but my head is not full of rot.’ The darkness laughed. It was the careless, a bit pompous laughter of a young man as if the speaker had coped with the situation better than her. Well, that was not a reply she was used to. She felt her skin creep a little, though her expression kept still; the fear was not the thing that usually got to join her emotion’s parade, which, truth be told was quite constricted in general.
‘Can’t you really not see me?’ Before she got to even think of replying the darkness continued. ’I could step into the light but that would mean you saw me even less.’
Her heart skipped a beat. Eyes wide with surprise she tried to focus. There fell the last of the hope to fool this stranger cloaked in shadows. Nothing, not even a single strand of hair did step into the moonlight beaming through the night-open entrance. So you wish to challenge the dragon, very well.
Her pupils widened. Intensively, she peered into the darkness; everything cleared and appeared upside down: in the light, the white shadows thickened when in shadow more shapes came into sight. This was it, the special skill Maribi had inherited from the heavenly dragons; the skill to survive even in the deepest of darkness. The ability what during the day was a nuisance now became an advantage.
For centuries, the Maribi had outwitted their enemy - unknown to their ability - to step into the light. There were two ways a stranger of the sort would act to this: if he was utterly stupid, he would do as ordered and without knowing, spoil the Maribi’s sneaky plan. Or if he was clever he would laugh at the order and stay hidden in the darkness, or so he would think… It was even stated in one of their old wisdom: sometimes, to fool the dragon, thou got to be a bit of a dalcop. How wrong as it may sound, these dalcops succeeded in such unintended “deception” fairly well, as the history showed.
This person, however, was somewhere in between a dalcop and genius. He didn’t step under the moon, but he made clear the secret wasn’t beyond his knowledge. From what she could tell, he didn’t belong to the owners of such skills. Even without seeing him, to her, his presence did not quite exude ryuu. She just sensed it. Good if he was a dragon at all.
Mida glanced over her shoulder, past the winged dragon to the other side of the room. At last, she noticed the dark, caped figure standing near the wooden and dragon-embellished door from which she had walked in. But when had he come? She did not know. There had been not even the faintest sound of somebody else following her, she could have sworn.
‘Hmm, you’re not so bad,’ chuckled the figure.
She almost shot him a fractious glare. What was in this stranger to act so above her? He knew her secrets or some, must he appraise her as well? Or was he of exalted birth? If so, he ought to have known to at least wait outside.
There was something peculiar on the inky dressed figure that aroused doubt in her. And yet she felt it hadn’t only to do with his mask: a black face-cover that sat on his face just so only his smirk beamed to her. The shape reminded her of a stylized wolf, outlines titivated with bluish-green; the same colour as her headpiece. Another time she had probably found it pretty, had it not sat on his head. Now she only stared at it with mixed feelings. A cloak was wrapped round his body, leaving only the shoes visible; black, gleam leather shoes.
Mida stirred. Shoes! What was worse, these weren’t those soft sandals in which the guards sneaked through the palace, but quite foreign in appearance, shiny and although black, quite tapering at the toes. She had never seen such on any of her people. Besides, this shrine was of holy ground meant to be walked on with appropriate sandals or without. Coming here with the outside footwear was a clear insult; as if throwing dirt past the gods’ threshold. She hoped the spirits would give her mercy for the man’s behaviour.
For a while, she considered whether to call her assistants or guards by her side if the man would turn out to be dangerous - she only needed to rustle the fan and they would rush into rescue - but she didn’t think so. If he was an attacker he had already made his move. If he was a murderer, he had already left the place with her motionless corpse left lying on the cold shrine planks. If he was a kidnapper he had already approached her with fast, unnoticeable moves and sent her mind to dreamy paths. And if he was a thief, well, why was he here presenting himself to her? Unless he was a rather haughty kind of thief. Which he could be, given his manners, but whether he was a thief… Mida took a breath. No, the man wasn’t harmful, in a life-taking way. Still, she eyed at him from above her fan, vigilant, the room’s deep darkness curtaining her face into shadow. Whatever lay behind that mask, she should not give it the upper hand.
O, faithful Thunder, spare me from the truth if he’s your messenger.
She stared at the holes of his disguise, normally long stare was insulting although that was hardly an option as any face contact with men was inappropriate. But now she seized the chance also hoping for the man to realise his own mistakes as well as to get even a tiniest of glimpse from the person behind the cover. If there were eyes behind the facepiece they were well-hidden by the blackness.
The stranger didn’t seem fazed though it was difficult to tell seeing only mouth, but the upwards curled lips didn’t quite look influenced in any way, except perhaps that he was again, one step ahead of her, or well, if it was stairs, he was probably standing on top while she worked her way up. She suddenly realised her grip of the ougi to tighten.
How would she get him to say his name though? Should she try another poem? He hadn’t quite replied her first one, not the usual way. Mida briefly glanced at her many fan blades. It was hard enough to make poems in a foreign language.
‘Hmm, what do you do with a name if you know no background? Yet with many times behind me, I was given some, for one, The Emissary, for the other Deliver, from Shadowrider to Stranger Clad in Black and Mr Out the Window and last comes Shadow-Melter. Here, I’ve introduced.’
No, you absolutely haven’t! The stranger’s way of introducing baffled her. Mida had desired to ask whether the man had a proper name instead of a list of titles - no matter how strange and intriguing Shadow-Melter might sound - or what was the background behind Mr Out the Window or whether that was even a proper name, but saw it fit to say no more and just observe.
With all the passing blink, it became clearer their minds didn’t sing the same tune. If the man was a local, now would be his last time to fall into the sandals of a humble man and admit his apology from intruding her and the deities’ peace. Dear god of shiver, at least give a sound to your appearing! How dared he not to even try to look sorry for what he had done and even spout out her secrets as if they were some common knowledge! What was he; a walking secret-fisher? Where had he got his knowledge from? Certainly not from her. His mere presence caused vexation to rise to the surface, making her veins pulse with irritation. Under her long sleeves, her fingers clenched into fists.
‘Not to be rude but you spent quite an aeon behind those statues. It’s kind of tiresome to entertain oneself for hours.’ The wolf head tilted slightly as if trying to look bored. 'All you can do is to come up with silly rhymes.’ He merely smiled his dry smile.
Mida gave no answer but only kept her fan in position covering her face. Mr Sneaker paid not even the tiniest of esteem to her wordless wishes of staying quiet. Instead, the quietness seemed to only make him eager to talk more as if her silence was an annoying fly he could shoo away with the good use of his vocal cords.
He sighed. ‘ Your fan is pretty, I admit. Though couldn’t you even pretend you’ve noticed it, give it a peek? You’re making me quite a laughing stock here.’
She paused. Give - what - a peek? Mida glanced at her sides and just now she noticed a small… envelope - she recognised - lying on the floor.
Darkness caressed and licked its edges, some shadows still hissing round it like invisible snakes. It was clear: this had come from the shadowmail. Questions started their sprint in her mind: Who had sent it? When? Why was it here?
The item couldn’t be any love letter, could it? None of her admirers was known to use this ancient method. It also had no scent, like almost everything did that came to her in a form of paper. Gone were also all the flowers, ribbons or even scales to adorn it with.
Why has anybody sent me an envelope this… lacking?
She stared at it.
The man sighed. ‘Don’t say I must open it to you as well,’ the lack of interest in the task sounded clear in his voice. ‘It’s not that hard, you just remove the seal and pull open the cover. It’s not going to bite you or anything.’
She wasn’t too sure about that last remark. Everything that underwent the shadowmail, meant it had gone through a kind of magic and sometimes all of this magic didn’t entirely vanish even if the consignment reached its destination. So much she had heard about the strange mail system, yet that was almost all she knew about it.
Mida hesitated, hovering her hand over the object until Mr Shadow’s face showed a sign for another retort to part from his mouth. Carefully, she picked up the sealed envelope. The shadows slowly melted away as if her touch had the magic power to make them disappear. In the deep blue signet flaunted a detailed phoenix, wings proudly spread upwards and head turned to face her eyes.
Her eyes grew wide. A phoenix! There was only one place she knew was called a phoenix land, but could this be so straightforward? Whatever came from the shadowmail had to be taken with distrust. And so she did.
The signet wasn’t the only one with the aged look to it and though gorgeously pictured, the style of the phoenix looked a bit démodé. Besides, this one was blue and well, The Blue she knew was somewhere away like The Thunder, only existing in tales the elves passed to one another. The envelope itself felt ancient and fragile, porous as it was, but cautiously she unwrapped the seal and pulled open the cover. Her fingers met paper, one more frail than its wrapper.
Extremely meticulously - like it would rip apart at any moment - she turned the letter over. The paper let out a cracking sound, typical of aged sheets. Her eyes bounced from up to down, down, left, up to down, left… at the rows of text before she realised she hadn’t got a word out of it. And it soon became clear there were no diagonal columns. But she was sure it was text running on the yellowed sheet, it were the characters that were strange. They didn’t resemble the dragon strokes and other shapes of that matter she was expecting them to be. The whole thing was written in another language; not in Maribi, not in the common-to-all Mirayae either but in… Meir.
Meir… And to remove a block from beneath an already wobbly tower, it was in Ancient Meir, she had even fewer experience of. Or to put it bluntly: no experience at all. Somehow, she had just the feel though it was long when she had last stumbled on this type of writing. As ridiculous as it may sound, the two languages shared hardly any similarities. It was true the tongues had developed in different times though. This wasn’t much help to her, however.
Taken by surprise that came in the same pack as the confusion of not quite understanding what you saw, she peered at the strange letters as if that would let her understand what they said. Mida could barely make any sense out of the text. This seemed to amuse the dark dressed stranger. She heard him chuckle somewhere in the distance.
And…
Her eyes stopped at the last sentence.
It was…
She blinked and froze.
This is not in Ancient Meir!
Her hands shaking she began reading the only part she understood, written in plain and clear Mirayae, unlike the other squiggling spelling you could hardly identify as Ancient Meir. Though, the message it carried was bewildering to interpret or understand. One single sentence was enough to send her backwards:
Dear Sovereign of the Shadows in the Deep, please, find your friend, Farrvaarh.
Farrvaarh? She tasted the word with her tongue. What does that even mean? And how in the Thunder's name do you pronounce that? Farruuaara? Farruuaa? Farruuaaraha? It didn’t quite seem right.
Despite now being perfectly readable, (as far as her skills in Mirayae reached,) the content was perplexing in more ways she could explain.
Dear Sovereign of the Shadows in the Deep, that had to mean her. Though the last part made even less sense. Please, somebody wanted her to do something; to find her friend? But who in the black scales of the Thunder was Farrvaarh? The text made it quite obvious it meant him or her as her friend unless this Farrvaarh-person was the one to receive this letter and rescue their friend instead. But then this letter shouldn’t be here, should it? Or was this Farrvaarh just another fancy out-of-nowhere nickname to her? There was only one way to find out.
‘This truly belongs to me?’ She looked somewhere in the direction of the stranger’s shoes, still afraid to make face contact. The tilt of the wolf head caught her eyes though only to meet with his drooped smile. He crossed his arms over his chest. ‘I thought you of all the shadow dwellers would know the way of it.’
I do know the way of the shadowmail, I just don’t know whether I can trust it, Mida had wanted to say but kept her mouth shut, not wanting to give out any more free secrets not knowing who she was talking to. It was already frightening to notice how well-informed he looked at the first impression. He had known her secret, what else might lie in his extensive looking chest of knowledge? Though, the masked man seemed to guess her thoughts.
‘Have it your way. But know this,’ he spun his wrist in an elegant way. ‘The shadowmail is never wrong, the sender might be anonymous but the destination has never been anything else unless, of course, the sender himself has mistaken.’
‘Then, why are you here?’ She involuntarily blurted before having thought the whole thing through. Her mouth was going ahead of her thoughts. She scolded herself.
The man sneered. He seemed to be more used to such direct ways to announce cases. ‘Glad you asked. You do know about the history of this mail system, I trust. That I don’t need to fill you in on the stories of the ancient aristocracy playing the shadowmail on each other?’
Mida nodded knowingly, though in truth she had no seed of knowledge of what the man was talking about. What was the shadowmail game the aristocracy had played? Was it something similar to this? Sending letters? And who were the aristocracy? She would have loved to know, but the situation forced her to keep the questions to herself should she not wish to be a fool and reveal the hole to her erudition.
Luckily, the man seemed to take her silence and lack of questions as an agreement. ’It is a hilarious story, believe me. So then, it is quite obvious. Otherwise, why use mailmen if the letters would travel all the way by themselves? Pretty stupid. Of course, they won’t, and though they think it’s different in our system, they have erred. The same applies to shadowmail as well. It’s unfortunate, but the shadows do need some looking after from time to time. Reluctant beasts those. So as for my part; it is to see the letter finds itself to the right hands. ’ His face turned to the opened envelope. ‘And that the receiver in question, will read it as well.’ The little sound of ridicule to his voice didn’t pass her ears. Instead, it grated in there like a knife dropped on the floor. How could she have noticed such a thing? Well if nothing, your mail should at least make a sound! And be kind and wait outside the shrine! She added in her mind.
Squinting, she examined the letter’s strange characters once again. She even turned the paper round and held it up against the moonlight as if that would reveal a hidden text or anything helpful to track down its writer, but the paper was its stubborn self; no new marks appeared on the partly torn and cracked surface.
‘I think the writer of this hasn’t bothered to sign the letter in the first place. Probably afraid of the consequences: to some giving away his name to a shadow is the last straw, ‘ reasoned Shadow Sneaker.
Mida wished she could have a quill or an invisible scribe somewhere, even without asking the stranger was mentioning things that were, hopefully, to her advantage. As her own know-how about all things, shadowmail was pretty clearly just a plain and round zero.
The fragile paper rasped in her hands. Mida hoped the sender had been scatterbrained enough to leave them even the tiniest of hint of his or her name. She ran her fingers to the bottom edge of the paper until her eyes hit something; a smudgy scribble that could form a word, separated from the other text.
‘Or then he just doesn’t wish to be found.‘ He turned to look what she was staring at and in an indifferent manner, said: ‘Ah, that thing, I don’t think it’s anything. Means a ‘tea cup’ if I’m not completely mistaken.’
She frowned. A teacup? The understandable part didn’t say a thing about that subject. Now is someone secretly inviting me to a tea party? Ceremony? Trade? How does Farrvaarh relate to a teacup? She felt even more perplexed and blinked of surprise. ‘You can read this?’
He cast her an empty stare with the two black holes of his mask, she suspected was meant as a sideways glance, with a bit of amusement peeking from his mouth’s corner. ‘What do you think? If I did, wasn’t I already reciting it to you? No, but I happen to know méadren means a teacup.’
Well, that’s no help.
She felt how the strange man shifted his weight right next to her. Since when did he move from the spot? Her eyes spun to him. ‘Who has sent this? Was it you, ano… Kage-san?’
Mida felt herself inwardly wincing. But the man hadn’t given her more than that list of titles many of which had something to do with black or shadow. And she feared her own accent would slip in the way should she try one of those he had suggested. She had to admit it was more than suitable to both his manners and clothing which were like those of an unwanted guest, or one dressed for a funeral. And well, that he was from the tips of his leather shoes to the back of his mask, his manners flowing to her palace like a plague with him. It was surprising how contagious the impoliteness was, spreading like a yawn; suddenly and unseen.
His face brightened. ‘Ah, now giving me a native name, I like it.’ Then his mouth fell back into one single line, as emotionless as the mask with empty holes as its eyes, staring into the void. ‘That is something I wish to find out as well. So, the answer to the second question is obvious. I am only the deliver of this letter.‘
She looked at the letter, then at the man.
The Emissary of the Shadows, literally.
Mida dared not to ask why the shadowmail required a deliver. Though the man had explained, she was feeling as if he hadn’t quite told her everything. Delivers were rarely used though. This made her even more doubtful of why the man had come. Only important consignments used a deliver. Was the letter that important? Or… the second question send shivers down her spine: or was the man curious about its origin as well? He certainly was, but why? What if he knew more of it? He could have read the whole thing beforehand, that had explained his amusement earlier. Maybe, she thought, maybe he’s faking me all the time. Her eyes wondered to his facepiece and narrowed.
What do you want from me?
‘Then, how am I ever going to find out whose work this is?’
‘Follow the shadows.’
Follow the shadows? She inclined her head. Despite being a quick thinker, Mr Sneaker’s straight logic didn’t quite fit in her mind.
‘The one known to the path, back may find. And so can the shadows also walk the tracks. The way back is there.‘
The way back… Her brain began ticking. The man was referring to something she had never heard of; tracking an anonymous sender by the laws of the mail itself. Of course, with regular mail it wasn't so uncommon if only, the letter's author signed it, finding him would be easy. But this wasn't a regular way by any means, but could it still work? Provided that the mail ended up where intended, could the same thing also work backwards? And how so?
The man answered the question in her stead, ‘You must pronounce the sender’s words backwards, that is.’
Backwards?
But how can I ever know what he or she said?
‘I see you haven’t done a delivery yourself before.’ The stranger smirked while he gave his wrist another spin in the air. ‘That’s the second key to open the lock if you please. As the one held accountable for the mail, the shadows entrusted me these words.‘
He took a little break to ensure she hadn’t fallen off the ride. Mr Sneaker dug a small piece of paper from somewhere under his cloak and cleared his throat. ‘Now listen carefully and memorize this: ‘Oi, jylhä vuori - ’
Mida’s heart sank as soon as he spoke. The words weren’t Mirayae as she had hoped.
‘- ken varjoissain seisoo - ‘
She winced. To her horror, the man spoke in Meir.
‘- mi’ varjoissain makaa - ‘
His pronunciation sounded funny. The r’ grated and s’ hissed. It felt unnatural, here and there she could perceive familiar sounds, but the words were strange. Despite the funny sound to the man’s speech, his pronunciation was, undoubtedly, far better than hers. And the mere thought of trying to memorize all that terrified her, without speaking of repeating it backwards.
‘- minne käy ei tie edes reen. Kiitää taivas kiitää maa, kantaa yli maiden, merien,
saleihin pimeyden valtiattaren!’
The man cast her a wide and ironical smile as if to say: here you go. To that, she answered with raising her fan higher over her face.
‘Well, at least it’s worth a try,’ he teased.
Worth a try!? I don’t even know what that means! Though she was quite sure there had been quite a poetic vibe to the words it did not help much if all was like pure Ancient Mirayae; not understandable.
She had wanted to throw the stranger with something, knowing it had been the last step over the sacred line - though the man had deserved it having already crossed the line himself long ago - nothing except for the letter she still pressed in her hands was within reach. And a paper lacked both: heavy mass and good flying skills. Instead, she folded the paper away inside her sleeve and considered whether the fan would do, but it was perhaps too fancy to be wasted on him although it wasn’t her finest.
Is every shadowmail deliver like this? Is ever delivery like this?
‘Or perhaps use this paper for that.’
He took a step towards her, but before she got to move, let alone withdraw, he had her hand in his. Glove, she noticed and the next instant he placed something on her palm, gently curling her fingers round it as he bowed. So close was he the wolf’s nuzzle almost braced her chin. She hoped she had at least had her ougi at the ready to shield her face from the man, but now nothing was to be done. She darkened her face hoping the eye holes in his mask weren’t quite effective, or that his night side was poor. Though why come to darkness if the dragon’s eyes were sharper? It didn’t quite add up.
This close she could smell the rosy scent that wafted out of him, mingling into her soft wisteria. That rose though had a sharper fragrance that she had used to. Mida felt herself shivering thoroughly under the voluminous robes. There was something in that guy that did not only send chills along her spine but, rather, froze it as a whole.
‘It’s not in my power to say which way you do it as long as it works,’ he said, still pressing her lithe hand. ‘Which reminds me, you need not repeat all that, if you know the calling words just use them.’
Calling words? And what could those be? She got to think it no further as the man bowed and let her hand go. Mida had wanted to break loose his disguise but her fingers didn’t obey, they just kept where they were as if frozen in place.
I don’t even understand the first word! Her mind shouted at his alienating cloak.
Oi…?
Though she doubted it to be anything special. Probably just an appease. About the rest of the words though, she hadn’t the faintest idea. They could mean anything! Really, anything!
Meir, a phoenix…
Mida found it hard to get words out of her mouth. She still couldn’t trust this guy, but there was something to his claims as he spoke. Finally, she couldn’t bear it anymore, the bad suspicion that kept triggering her mind. ‘Does this mean, I’ll go North?’
‘I believe, it’s for you to turn the stones and see.’
Thanks for your guidance. She stared at him. A festival is coming, my rulership is on its brink and now you expect me to travel to the other side of the world? As if my absence would go unnoticed!
Again, the stranger was one step ahead of her. ‘Rest asserted, with the shadowmail, you’ll be there in no time.’
Thoughts spun in her head. He had spoken of tracking and following, but it hadn’t sprung to her that she was to become the delivery, now. A tidal wave of questions rushed over her, only to be replaced by another. It wasn’t so bad an idea to just let the shadows show the way, but melting with them? Unlike the man, she wasn’t a messenger of the shadows. What would exactly happen when a living being did that? Would she get shadow stains like the envelope? If so, would they also vanish when she completed her journey? Was that why the man wore that mask; to protect his face from the shadows though why was it wolf? If that was the case should she wear one too? He had mentioned they could turn a bit disobedient…
Better experience that as a dragon.
One question though, rose over the others rotating round her like a whirlpool of qualm.
Why do you want me to leave?
She wasn’t stupid. And now she could smell not just one but two rats. One for the cause why the man had come here in the first place, the other for the suspicion that Mr Sneaker had a reason speaking behind his lips to get her away from here. Finding out the right sender interested her, especially because she had no idea how urgent it was, but she couldn’t leave the treasure unsecured while she was away.
Her gaze fell to the letter. The thing felt as if it weighed more than a paper this weathered and fragile should. She checked it for one last time. The marks were dark and smooth, clearly fresh. Then, why was the paper old? It didn’t make sense. She sighed, this was all too confusing. Mida looked up at the man, nothing in him implied he was in a hurry.
He is just waiting for a reply, she figured. And he shall wait forever if I do nothing.
Fine. ‘I’ll go,’ Mida said at last. But not just yet, she thought to herself, hoping she had pronounced the right ‘spell words’ to make Mr Sneaker disappear from her sight. Hopefully, for good.
Farrvaarh, whoever you are you’d better be worth finding. An old saying popped into her mind just then: the dragon never leaves her nest twice, and even if she does once it’s better to be a good reason. Or the rage may follow, and that is to be terrible.
The stranger smiled. ‘Your letter, your decision. I shall leave you now, may we meet again.’ The man shadowstepped, she was sure as if everything else but his shoe soles stayed over the floor. Mm, if that was so, maybe his shoes weren't that much of a problem after all. Or could they leave trails, what, shadow trails? If that was like dust she wouldn’t mind it, here but maybe brought in by him things would be different. She craved none of that stranger’s pride or trails to come ruin her parent’s honour. Yet, he had given her something, a reason to leave, a reason to believe him if that was worthy of that.
Ah, no we won’t, we absolutely won’t may, she thought, her cheeks almost flushing red. Mida gave her skin an even deeper colour as to hide all the fury storming inside her head. There was something truly irritating about the stranger, she couldn’t dress into words and if she had, she doubted the gods nor ancestors had liked it.
He backed away a few steps until a thick veil of shadows grew round him. This was the worst part: the first time ever her darkness-sight failed her. Where the shadows grew thicker and she should have seen shapes, there was, really, just blackness. Did he melt with the shadows as his nickname implied? Was that his secret; the shadowmail? Or did he just put on a magical cape, become transparent and walk outside? She couldn’t tell. He just literally vanished, like smoke in the air, like the sun hid behind the clouds, like tofu melted into the steaming soup, just like that. Without sound, without notice. For one blink he was there on the other he wasn’t.
Will my transporting be like that as well?
Her fingers fiddled the label as the complete silence fell into the room. She remained staring at the torn paper he had given to her. Mida’s hairs rose up. Suddenly, the privacy was no longer so tempting a place to be.
A maidservant approached her along with a guard, who politely kept his look down at her sleeves. Mida smiled to herself, he was so unlike the shadowy stranger.
'That was quite a long prayer. Though I thought I heard a voice and laughter, did somebody interrupt you, Hime-sama?'
Mida looked into the young maid's eyes before saying. 'No, should you have heard anything it must have been only the kami enjoying themselves.'
Hanako regarded her but nodded. Mida noticed the guard's jaw tighten but he raised not his gaze, not even once as they escorted her back. Nobody either noticed the small paper behind her fan she glanced with doubt in her eyes.
She mounted the last of stairs halting on top expecting the maid to withdraw. ‘The dragon calls for help whenever needed, but now, privacy calls for the dragon.’
The maidservant didn’t leave her in an instant, instead, she only said, ‘Hime-sama, ‘ and crouched to hand her a small wooden case with both hands, then bowed and withdrew from the entrance.
Her hands barely got a hold of it, and rather the item rested on her sleeves drowning in the layers though she carried it like a king his kingdom’s precious: with respect and honour.
A weathered dragon head welcomed her in the much-seen shrine and a small breeze followed her only so little to make the dangling omamori swish as if hissing aloud their prayers. She scanned the row of pouches and charms wondering how old they were. Some appeared in the shape of dragons, even cats and fish, others just hanging pouches.
The shrine lacked its own torii gate, marking the boundary between the ordinary and the area of the kami. Probably it had been destroyed by some nature’s ire or then an act of a dragon. Which way, she didn’t know, wood was so easily destroyed. Yet she still thought she felt the presence change as she stepped to where the gate normally stood and even more now inside the shrine.
Beneath her sleeve-softened steps of the nakabakama, the old wood creaked slightly its dark colour almost merging to those of the shadows cast by the faint moon sieving its way through the open entrance. She was glad it was to her back though as any other position would worsen her sight. She could barely lay eyes on the moon’s raw glare reflected on the floor, only so little did she look at it to notice it clean.
Apart from the floor, dust scattered everywhere, staining the walls, the wooden supporting pillars and bars like grey, misty hair growing at its best. It had chosen the deepest corners as its territory from which it hoarded more space to its ever-expanding lair. She had prepared to get her clothes dusty, yet there was one thing the dust hadn’t touched - or rather from which its touch had been removed.
Old as the shrine was had also the room its aged, stuffy smell. From walls to ceiling, the dust scattered. It stained the walls, supporting cypress pillars and bars, like grey, misty hair growing at its best. A thing that would arouse revulsion in most of the maids, if not even the shrine maidens, but as strange as it sounded she thought even the dust had its place. Dust was strange, like the kami themselves. It just appeared and with time gathered, but you never quite saw where it came from. She had never dared to share her own idea, that there was a creature that left it behind. It would only cause unneeded bafflement at the court, she couldn’t even think what they would think if the rumours spread. ‘Hime’-sama’s interested of dust!’ As if she hadn’t a better thing to marvel about. Of course, there were yards and yards of gardens with wisteria and plum and pine trees and many others with their fair share of plants and elements.
She shook away the thoughts. They would never understand. It was not that she despised gardens. It just fascinated her artistic side how dust changed the surfaces, touching didn’t do, of course. That didn’t feel so wonderful.
On a whim, she made up a poem.
The night shines, inside, the moon lights,
Dust on my sleeve, also onto the memories descends.
Dust on my sleeve, also onto the memories descends.
She gave one more blink at the floorboards and then let her eyes ascend up. The floor was perhaps washed, but it was pleasing to see the place had remained as unchanged as could be. Dust gave the place its own look, a bit like yellowed scroll hand its own feel. It was her parents’ shrine after all, and had it been completely cleaned now it would feel like something was missing. The spirit wouldn’t be the same. She wondered if the deities approved with her decision.
As her red eyes scanned the place, in the back of the room, something silver flashed. She squinted, shielding her eyes, the giant sleeves like a curtain against her face. It was not often she visited this part of the palace, certainly not in the moonlight, but the festival was to come soon as was her leave. She could hardly think of it. Leaving this place behind. What would the rest of the household do, without their hime to look after to? The maids could come with her, but that was just a fraction of all the elves here.
Could she persuade her husband to visit this place ever again? Her thoughts drifted to chefs, guards all so kind towards her, and finally to the boy with red hair and her similar looking sister, she had taken under her wing. Naí-san… What would Naí do? I’ll have to find them a place as well.
And then there was the lie. How long could it go on like this? Would the prince swallow it down as well?
She shook her head. It was not normal for the worry to seize her like this, or was it anxiety? She only hugged both arms close to her chest, hoping for the motion to ease the qualms somewhat.
Recovering from her thoughts, she found herself facing the large scroll, kakejiku, its silver ends glistened by moonlight, peeking from behind the statues. The two mighty and black dragon statues - one winged, the other serpent-like - stood on its both sides as if guarding the memory of the past. It was not difficult to guess what they stood for.
She walked to the dragons, kneeling onto a square-tatami pad, laid out before them. Her robes filled up the whole space as she sat, the hair travelling further than that. She bowed, clapped her hands twice. Then bent her head slightly downward, bringing her palms together in a prayer, the left hand slightly above the right.
‘O The Kings of Wind and Thunder, pride and forever respected. From between the mountains comes your dragon carrying a gift, I pray for your attention, please accept this.’
Still holding the wooden case, she untied the small ribbon tied round it. Then, she opened its cover and lay it on the floor. The burnt smell rose from the lacquered box inside which, she picked up a small bowl and a jug full of water, then took a pinch of the black soil from the case and placed it on the empty bowl in her hand.
The dry soil dropped off of her fingers onto the dragon-painted bowl. With her other hand, she raised it in front of her and with the other brought the jug high up and poured the water on the soil.
‘Water for the plants.’ She pronounced as the sound of watered earth filled the silence. Laying down the objects before her she dug a stick from the box. ‘Fire for the cold.’ She stroked the stick’s end against the case’s hard surface. A yellow flash followed and turned into a smoky trail. It sent the warm wreaths to her nose. She held the incense as she drew a black, burnt scale from her sleeve.
‘And thunder for the days of old.’ She stretched her posture as far as her bent knees allowed and raised the scale for all the deities to see, let it shine in the moonlight, then placed it on the soil bowl, blew out the incense and bowed deep. ‘May the winds remember.’
With these words she sent her prayer to the gods and ancestors above, ending the ceremony to a bow. Perhaps, they were watching over her even now. She could only hope they weren’t too angry for how little attention this place had been given. The shame on her shoulders was greater than the mere bow could compensate. If the deities felt insulted they would show it. Perhaps not instantly, but sooner or later that was certain and her kingdom would feel their hatred in its heart and soul.
Shuddering for the dreadful image of what might come of that, she rose from her sitting pose. Silence followed another as her words mingled to the room’s quietness. You should not make haste when in touch with the spirits, new and especially old. She waited a moment longer before opening her mouth again and cast a look at the dragons. ‘The sovereign seeks an entrance behind the great and mighty. May she pass?’
Neither of the sculpted reptiles made a gesture to one way nor the other. The absence of sounds remained in the room like a sign of approval. Only the wind rustled the curtains behind her. She stepped between them.
A sight of the tremendous scroll conquered her vision. She footstepped closer and knelt before it, straightened her posture, her pose pressing on her ankles and toes as she watched. With each looks she felt herself shrinking in size. The scaled bodies and the wings of The Great had hidden it from view, as if sparing the item for those with the right to see it. But now she stood behind the deities’ back the whole wall stood unveiled for her. A kakejiku of silk fabric and so enormous in size it almost covered the entire wall, spread out high and wide in front of her, in its centre a mounted painting of a shrine that looked quite similar to this one, only this had two stories more. The structure’s open gates faced to a courtyard, its eave curving upwards, pointing at the cherry trees growing nearby. She had the strong sensation as if she should know the place but her memory stayed unaffected, plain, like field without its flowers. It happened each time she gazed at it, as if she was trying to recover a memory that wasn’t there. No matter how hard she pressed her memory, all she saw was just the painting, without memories. As if the paper wished her to not see all. She shuddered. Could some kami prevent her from seeing? What if they thought it inappropriate for her to know about the building? Though… then why did the scroll hang right over her parents’ fan? But what was it? At the same time she thought she ought to know…
Her eyes trailed along the path of the fallen cherry petals on the kakejiku, then dropping to the cypress blades, carefully bound together with black-red strings that also fell over its sides almost reaching to the floor, and painted with her parents’ images along with hers, in the middle. It was her mother’s ceremonial hiougi, it had been. Now if she was lucky, she perhaps had it wherever her spirit roamed.
The fan rested lonely on its serpentine retainer, the shape of a dragon as if it was its head adornment. The dragon had its eyes closed, depicting eternal sleep. It looked so relaxed, she felt her own anxiousness drop a little at the sight of its smooth closed lids and the ajar mouth which still had some fangs visible as if to warn from coming too close without speaking of potential thieves eager to snatch away the relic.
A saddened smile came to her lips. For guarding my parents, I am forever grateful. Although the place appeared gloomy itself, the image on the hiougi was everything but miserable.
Three elves sat in a garden. The softened glow of the moon came presenting its eerie glow as blue shimmers on the hair of a woman donned in her finest karaginu-mo, while her fingers plucked a large zither. Farther away on a pond, the koi fish swam as if dancing along with her tones. Contentment was painted all over, even within the tiniest of objects; the small birds chant their song in the rhythm of the koto, the pines’ canopies were trimmed and round-shaped like rice balls or moss; the sign of good harvest. Even the small flowers and plants with their roots looked happy, as far as vegetation counted as such.
Next to the woman, another koto stood, resting by the hem-covered knees of a younger girl. The girl didn’t play the instrument though, she noticed by the pose of her fingers. They hovered over the strings as if pretending to play it, but the girl’s attention was drawn elsewhere. An older man sat beside her looking in the same direction, head bent towards the viewer and laughing as if having a fruitful conversation.
The painting was what she imagined their afterlife would probably be. Only without her. Though it was selfish and childish to wish for them to come back.
Mida squeezed her sleeve, feeling the nails through thick fabric. She[] couldn’t even recall his father’s, nor mother’s voice. Barely their appearance… had she any memory of them at all? Other than that somebody else had immortalised. She wrinkled her brow and then let the forehead smoothen, shutting her eyes.
A strange prickling felt in her left corner as if the lash was about to sneak into the eye. She blinked and gathered herself.
She studied the girl a moment longer, hardly recognising her younger self. Black dragons flew in the red sky of her kimono, like the ones illustrated on the banners outside. And the smile, it was so, innocent. So full of life. Will I look like that on my leaving day? I don’t even know him, he has barely sent any letters.
For a while, she wondered whether it was that brilliant to have the hiougi here after all. Though maybe it was this item that gave the place its own spark, made it complete, she reasoned as the faint sweet aroma floated to her nose. Not all of her mother’s scent was lost yet but the fragrance was so delicate it was hard to distinguish the incense. She could probably never get to know her mother’s secret. She inhaled a bit longer.
May the peace forever rest with you…
The emptiness inside her grew into a hole in her heart, the words still stung though her own. Or maybe it was the reality? Her head drooped down only to meet with the kakejiku’s dusty surface. She didn’t care it now, instead leant against the painting like hoping to move to the past that way and let the joyful moment portrayed in the scroll be real again. The scroll didn’t respond to her wishes and stayed cold. She cast a glance at the floor.
What should I do? The orb is still missing…
Otou…sama? Her eyes wondered back at the man, but to her, he looked like a stranger, and then at the woman deepened in the playing. Okaa-sama?
The woman’s gaze lay on the zither. The longer she watched the stronger her playing in her mind grew. She could even imagine the note of woodwinds and percussions in the background: the hymn of their nation lost in the waves of times long past. Why was it this she imagined the woman playing? A lost tone? Maybe she had played it, indeed. It was hard to put into concrete terms, but there was something in her essence that gave her such idea. And it wasn’t only because of the clothes she wore, there was something past and distant in the woman, she could sense it.
Why can I not recognise you? Why don’t I remember?
Tears almost rose up to her lower lid as she gazed up at them, one last time. She felt the left corner wet, took a deep, tremulous breath and pushed the tear back. There were better times to mourn, as was the water of her eyes better be there than stained in the tribute of her parents; she couldn’t stand the thought of somebody else cleaning her tears. She couldn’t cause such a bother for others.
They want a strong leader, she told herself. And so she, instead, focused on the three elves watching over her, that moment when she had been the little one feeling the other two close to herself; the touch of her mother’s hands as she fiddled and brushed her bushy hair clear of tangles, the sound of her father when he laughed like he did in the kakejiku… but all she got was an empty, deep hole in her mind crying out for the memories to fill it with.
Though, soon I won’t even be…
Is he, even the right man? She regretted the thought as soon as she thought it. Would be a solely bad fortune to judge her betrothed without even meeting him, especially here, under the ever-watchful eye of her parents, kami and the Dragon.
‘A lady should worry herself with something less complicated, I trust, Mida-hime. Though if you ask my opinion, no.’
Her eyes narrowed and she twitched from her seat. Had she spoken aloud? Who was that? For a blink, she thought it was her father that had spoken or even a god, but that thought vanished quickly. The sound was not her language though she recognised the hints of Mirayae, the common tongue they spoke elsewhere. And certainly, no god sounded that. Some were perhaps pompous in nature, even commanding but this man’s voice was so… unholy, blasphemous. It lacked all the echo the deities had. And what had he called her, lady? And dared tell her what was appropriate? Head racing questions from the insult against her honour as well as her parents’, she glanced at her sides hoping to reveal the brusque stranger.
Despite being waylaid by a stranger, she made little act to show she had noticed. Hoping to save time for her to locate him. She remained seated, waiting for him to speak again.
The darkness didn’t reply immediately though. A moment and another passed until it went on: ‘there are keys to opening things and locks for securing them in. Just one cannot exist without the other, and so it is I’ve got keys but it seems your lock there is missing.’
Well, that was, certainly not what she expected to hear. She was used to poetry, but was that even a poem? More likely a riddle. I’ve got keys… but your lock is missing? My lock? What?
She shut the words from her mind for a while. Was that a distraction, after all? The stranger hadn’t even introduced himself, not to mention greeted. Or, if what he said first was a greeting it must be quite a strange world he lived in. After a while rose and turned, pretending to still be on her ritual and slowly leaving the shrine. Though had she got as far as the deities back she heard a noise, as if something was patted against the boards.
She sighed, muffling the sound to her sleeve as she drew the fan from the layers of her neckline. What if the stranger was just after her voice? Though no wooer had ever caught her off guard on a ritual, especially on her parents’ shrine! Didn’t he know she hadn’t her instrument here? Didn’t he realise this was libellous? Not only for her or her parents but all the spirits watching over this place. She wished she could get past it paying no heed, but it seemed this stranger most likely wasn’t a potential wooer, and that he wouldn’t go away before she responded.
‘Alone I sat in the dark and quietness, until a shadow cast over,
Can you see the moonlight, how brightly it shines?’
Can you see the moonlight, how brightly it shines?’
No answer came. The speaker wasn’t willing to obey. Did he not know poems? Mida smiled cunningly somewhere behind her face: the fortune was by her side, this game she was used to playing.
Very well, I’ll find you on my own.
She had managed to fool him. It had to be so. And if the darkness-guy stayed in the shadows finding him would be easy. But right then he spoke again, sinking all her joy.
‘A dragon of shadows wishes to see the moon though its blinding. A teapot might not be hot but my head is not full of rot.’ The darkness laughed. It was the careless, a bit pompous laughter of a young man as if the speaker had coped with the situation better than her. Well, that was not a reply she was used to. She felt her skin creep a little, though her expression kept still; the fear was not the thing that usually got to join her emotion’s parade, which, truth be told was quite constricted in general.
‘Can’t you really not see me?’ Before she got to even think of replying the darkness continued. ’I could step into the light but that would mean you saw me even less.’
Her heart skipped a beat. Eyes wide with surprise she tried to focus. There fell the last of the hope to fool this stranger cloaked in shadows. Nothing, not even a single strand of hair did step into the moonlight beaming through the night-open entrance. So you wish to challenge the dragon, very well.
Her pupils widened. Intensively, she peered into the darkness; everything cleared and appeared upside down: in the light, the white shadows thickened when in shadow more shapes came into sight. This was it, the special skill Maribi had inherited from the heavenly dragons; the skill to survive even in the deepest of darkness. The ability what during the day was a nuisance now became an advantage.
For centuries, the Maribi had outwitted their enemy - unknown to their ability - to step into the light. There were two ways a stranger of the sort would act to this: if he was utterly stupid, he would do as ordered and without knowing, spoil the Maribi’s sneaky plan. Or if he was clever he would laugh at the order and stay hidden in the darkness, or so he would think… It was even stated in one of their old wisdom: sometimes, to fool the dragon, thou got to be a bit of a dalcop. How wrong as it may sound, these dalcops succeeded in such unintended “deception” fairly well, as the history showed.
This person, however, was somewhere in between a dalcop and genius. He didn’t step under the moon, but he made clear the secret wasn’t beyond his knowledge. From what she could tell, he didn’t belong to the owners of such skills. Even without seeing him, to her, his presence did not quite exude ryuu. She just sensed it. Good if he was a dragon at all.
Mida glanced over her shoulder, past the winged dragon to the other side of the room. At last, she noticed the dark, caped figure standing near the wooden and dragon-embellished door from which she had walked in. But when had he come? She did not know. There had been not even the faintest sound of somebody else following her, she could have sworn.
‘Hmm, you’re not so bad,’ chuckled the figure.
She almost shot him a fractious glare. What was in this stranger to act so above her? He knew her secrets or some, must he appraise her as well? Or was he of exalted birth? If so, he ought to have known to at least wait outside.
There was something peculiar on the inky dressed figure that aroused doubt in her. And yet she felt it hadn’t only to do with his mask: a black face-cover that sat on his face just so only his smirk beamed to her. The shape reminded her of a stylized wolf, outlines titivated with bluish-green; the same colour as her headpiece. Another time she had probably found it pretty, had it not sat on his head. Now she only stared at it with mixed feelings. A cloak was wrapped round his body, leaving only the shoes visible; black, gleam leather shoes.
Mida stirred. Shoes! What was worse, these weren’t those soft sandals in which the guards sneaked through the palace, but quite foreign in appearance, shiny and although black, quite tapering at the toes. She had never seen such on any of her people. Besides, this shrine was of holy ground meant to be walked on with appropriate sandals or without. Coming here with the outside footwear was a clear insult; as if throwing dirt past the gods’ threshold. She hoped the spirits would give her mercy for the man’s behaviour.
For a while, she considered whether to call her assistants or guards by her side if the man would turn out to be dangerous - she only needed to rustle the fan and they would rush into rescue - but she didn’t think so. If he was an attacker he had already made his move. If he was a murderer, he had already left the place with her motionless corpse left lying on the cold shrine planks. If he was a kidnapper he had already approached her with fast, unnoticeable moves and sent her mind to dreamy paths. And if he was a thief, well, why was he here presenting himself to her? Unless he was a rather haughty kind of thief. Which he could be, given his manners, but whether he was a thief… Mida took a breath. No, the man wasn’t harmful, in a life-taking way. Still, she eyed at him from above her fan, vigilant, the room’s deep darkness curtaining her face into shadow. Whatever lay behind that mask, she should not give it the upper hand.
O, faithful Thunder, spare me from the truth if he’s your messenger.
She stared at the holes of his disguise, normally long stare was insulting although that was hardly an option as any face contact with men was inappropriate. But now she seized the chance also hoping for the man to realise his own mistakes as well as to get even a tiniest of glimpse from the person behind the cover. If there were eyes behind the facepiece they were well-hidden by the blackness.
The stranger didn’t seem fazed though it was difficult to tell seeing only mouth, but the upwards curled lips didn’t quite look influenced in any way, except perhaps that he was again, one step ahead of her, or well, if it was stairs, he was probably standing on top while she worked her way up. She suddenly realised her grip of the ougi to tighten.
How would she get him to say his name though? Should she try another poem? He hadn’t quite replied her first one, not the usual way. Mida briefly glanced at her many fan blades. It was hard enough to make poems in a foreign language.
‘The darkness thickened, and in the shadows I distinguished a shape,
yet his name, not even a wind did tell.’
yet his name, not even a wind did tell.’
‘Hmm, what do you do with a name if you know no background? Yet with many times behind me, I was given some, for one, The Emissary, for the other Deliver, from Shadowrider to Stranger Clad in Black and Mr Out the Window and last comes Shadow-Melter. Here, I’ve introduced.’
No, you absolutely haven’t! The stranger’s way of introducing baffled her. Mida had desired to ask whether the man had a proper name instead of a list of titles - no matter how strange and intriguing Shadow-Melter might sound - or what was the background behind Mr Out the Window or whether that was even a proper name, but saw it fit to say no more and just observe.
With all the passing blink, it became clearer their minds didn’t sing the same tune. If the man was a local, now would be his last time to fall into the sandals of a humble man and admit his apology from intruding her and the deities’ peace. Dear god of shiver, at least give a sound to your appearing! How dared he not to even try to look sorry for what he had done and even spout out her secrets as if they were some common knowledge! What was he; a walking secret-fisher? Where had he got his knowledge from? Certainly not from her. His mere presence caused vexation to rise to the surface, making her veins pulse with irritation. Under her long sleeves, her fingers clenched into fists.
‘Not to be rude but you spent quite an aeon behind those statues. It’s kind of tiresome to entertain oneself for hours.’ The wolf head tilted slightly as if trying to look bored. 'All you can do is to come up with silly rhymes.’ He merely smiled his dry smile.
Mida gave no answer but only kept her fan in position covering her face. Mr Sneaker paid not even the tiniest of esteem to her wordless wishes of staying quiet. Instead, the quietness seemed to only make him eager to talk more as if her silence was an annoying fly he could shoo away with the good use of his vocal cords.
He sighed. ‘ Your fan is pretty, I admit. Though couldn’t you even pretend you’ve noticed it, give it a peek? You’re making me quite a laughing stock here.’
She paused. Give - what - a peek? Mida glanced at her sides and just now she noticed a small… envelope - she recognised - lying on the floor.
Darkness caressed and licked its edges, some shadows still hissing round it like invisible snakes. It was clear: this had come from the shadowmail. Questions started their sprint in her mind: Who had sent it? When? Why was it here?
The item couldn’t be any love letter, could it? None of her admirers was known to use this ancient method. It also had no scent, like almost everything did that came to her in a form of paper. Gone were also all the flowers, ribbons or even scales to adorn it with.
Why has anybody sent me an envelope this… lacking?
She stared at it.
The man sighed. ‘Don’t say I must open it to you as well,’ the lack of interest in the task sounded clear in his voice. ‘It’s not that hard, you just remove the seal and pull open the cover. It’s not going to bite you or anything.’
She wasn’t too sure about that last remark. Everything that underwent the shadowmail, meant it had gone through a kind of magic and sometimes all of this magic didn’t entirely vanish even if the consignment reached its destination. So much she had heard about the strange mail system, yet that was almost all she knew about it.
Mida hesitated, hovering her hand over the object until Mr Shadow’s face showed a sign for another retort to part from his mouth. Carefully, she picked up the sealed envelope. The shadows slowly melted away as if her touch had the magic power to make them disappear. In the deep blue signet flaunted a detailed phoenix, wings proudly spread upwards and head turned to face her eyes.
Her eyes grew wide. A phoenix! There was only one place she knew was called a phoenix land, but could this be so straightforward? Whatever came from the shadowmail had to be taken with distrust. And so she did.
The signet wasn’t the only one with the aged look to it and though gorgeously pictured, the style of the phoenix looked a bit démodé. Besides, this one was blue and well, The Blue she knew was somewhere away like The Thunder, only existing in tales the elves passed to one another. The envelope itself felt ancient and fragile, porous as it was, but cautiously she unwrapped the seal and pulled open the cover. Her fingers met paper, one more frail than its wrapper.
Extremely meticulously - like it would rip apart at any moment - she turned the letter over. The paper let out a cracking sound, typical of aged sheets. Her eyes bounced from up to down, down, left, up to down, left… at the rows of text before she realised she hadn’t got a word out of it. And it soon became clear there were no diagonal columns. But she was sure it was text running on the yellowed sheet, it were the characters that were strange. They didn’t resemble the dragon strokes and other shapes of that matter she was expecting them to be. The whole thing was written in another language; not in Maribi, not in the common-to-all Mirayae either but in… Meir.
Meir… And to remove a block from beneath an already wobbly tower, it was in Ancient Meir, she had even fewer experience of. Or to put it bluntly: no experience at all. Somehow, she had just the feel though it was long when she had last stumbled on this type of writing. As ridiculous as it may sound, the two languages shared hardly any similarities. It was true the tongues had developed in different times though. This wasn’t much help to her, however.
Taken by surprise that came in the same pack as the confusion of not quite understanding what you saw, she peered at the strange letters as if that would let her understand what they said. Mida could barely make any sense out of the text. This seemed to amuse the dark dressed stranger. She heard him chuckle somewhere in the distance.
And…
Her eyes stopped at the last sentence.
It was…
She blinked and froze.
This is not in Ancient Meir!
Her hands shaking she began reading the only part she understood, written in plain and clear Mirayae, unlike the other squiggling spelling you could hardly identify as Ancient Meir. Though, the message it carried was bewildering to interpret or understand. One single sentence was enough to send her backwards:
Dear Sovereign of the Shadows in the Deep, please, find your friend, Farrvaarh.
Farrvaarh? She tasted the word with her tongue. What does that even mean? And how in the Thunder's name do you pronounce that? Farruuaara? Farruuaa? Farruuaaraha? It didn’t quite seem right.
Despite now being perfectly readable, (as far as her skills in Mirayae reached,) the content was perplexing in more ways she could explain.
Dear Sovereign of the Shadows in the Deep, that had to mean her. Though the last part made even less sense. Please, somebody wanted her to do something; to find her friend? But who in the black scales of the Thunder was Farrvaarh? The text made it quite obvious it meant him or her as her friend unless this Farrvaarh-person was the one to receive this letter and rescue their friend instead. But then this letter shouldn’t be here, should it? Or was this Farrvaarh just another fancy out-of-nowhere nickname to her? There was only one way to find out.
‘This truly belongs to me?’ She looked somewhere in the direction of the stranger’s shoes, still afraid to make face contact. The tilt of the wolf head caught her eyes though only to meet with his drooped smile. He crossed his arms over his chest. ‘I thought you of all the shadow dwellers would know the way of it.’
I do know the way of the shadowmail, I just don’t know whether I can trust it, Mida had wanted to say but kept her mouth shut, not wanting to give out any more free secrets not knowing who she was talking to. It was already frightening to notice how well-informed he looked at the first impression. He had known her secret, what else might lie in his extensive looking chest of knowledge? Though, the masked man seemed to guess her thoughts.
‘Have it your way. But know this,’ he spun his wrist in an elegant way. ‘The shadowmail is never wrong, the sender might be anonymous but the destination has never been anything else unless, of course, the sender himself has mistaken.’
‘Then, why are you here?’ She involuntarily blurted before having thought the whole thing through. Her mouth was going ahead of her thoughts. She scolded herself.
The man sneered. He seemed to be more used to such direct ways to announce cases. ‘Glad you asked. You do know about the history of this mail system, I trust. That I don’t need to fill you in on the stories of the ancient aristocracy playing the shadowmail on each other?’
Mida nodded knowingly, though in truth she had no seed of knowledge of what the man was talking about. What was the shadowmail game the aristocracy had played? Was it something similar to this? Sending letters? And who were the aristocracy? She would have loved to know, but the situation forced her to keep the questions to herself should she not wish to be a fool and reveal the hole to her erudition.
Luckily, the man seemed to take her silence and lack of questions as an agreement. ’It is a hilarious story, believe me. So then, it is quite obvious. Otherwise, why use mailmen if the letters would travel all the way by themselves? Pretty stupid. Of course, they won’t, and though they think it’s different in our system, they have erred. The same applies to shadowmail as well. It’s unfortunate, but the shadows do need some looking after from time to time. Reluctant beasts those. So as for my part; it is to see the letter finds itself to the right hands. ’ His face turned to the opened envelope. ‘And that the receiver in question, will read it as well.’ The little sound of ridicule to his voice didn’t pass her ears. Instead, it grated in there like a knife dropped on the floor. How could she have noticed such a thing? Well if nothing, your mail should at least make a sound! And be kind and wait outside the shrine! She added in her mind.
Squinting, she examined the letter’s strange characters once again. She even turned the paper round and held it up against the moonlight as if that would reveal a hidden text or anything helpful to track down its writer, but the paper was its stubborn self; no new marks appeared on the partly torn and cracked surface.
‘I think the writer of this hasn’t bothered to sign the letter in the first place. Probably afraid of the consequences: to some giving away his name to a shadow is the last straw, ‘ reasoned Shadow Sneaker.
Mida wished she could have a quill or an invisible scribe somewhere, even without asking the stranger was mentioning things that were, hopefully, to her advantage. As her own know-how about all things, shadowmail was pretty clearly just a plain and round zero.
The fragile paper rasped in her hands. Mida hoped the sender had been scatterbrained enough to leave them even the tiniest of hint of his or her name. She ran her fingers to the bottom edge of the paper until her eyes hit something; a smudgy scribble that could form a word, separated from the other text.
‘Or then he just doesn’t wish to be found.‘ He turned to look what she was staring at and in an indifferent manner, said: ‘Ah, that thing, I don’t think it’s anything. Means a ‘tea cup’ if I’m not completely mistaken.’
She frowned. A teacup? The understandable part didn’t say a thing about that subject. Now is someone secretly inviting me to a tea party? Ceremony? Trade? How does Farrvaarh relate to a teacup? She felt even more perplexed and blinked of surprise. ‘You can read this?’
He cast her an empty stare with the two black holes of his mask, she suspected was meant as a sideways glance, with a bit of amusement peeking from his mouth’s corner. ‘What do you think? If I did, wasn’t I already reciting it to you? No, but I happen to know méadren means a teacup.’
Well, that’s no help.
She felt how the strange man shifted his weight right next to her. Since when did he move from the spot? Her eyes spun to him. ‘Who has sent this? Was it you, ano… Kage-san?’
Mida felt herself inwardly wincing. But the man hadn’t given her more than that list of titles many of which had something to do with black or shadow. And she feared her own accent would slip in the way should she try one of those he had suggested. She had to admit it was more than suitable to both his manners and clothing which were like those of an unwanted guest, or one dressed for a funeral. And well, that he was from the tips of his leather shoes to the back of his mask, his manners flowing to her palace like a plague with him. It was surprising how contagious the impoliteness was, spreading like a yawn; suddenly and unseen.
His face brightened. ‘Ah, now giving me a native name, I like it.’ Then his mouth fell back into one single line, as emotionless as the mask with empty holes as its eyes, staring into the void. ‘That is something I wish to find out as well. So, the answer to the second question is obvious. I am only the deliver of this letter.‘
She looked at the letter, then at the man.
The Emissary of the Shadows, literally.
Mida dared not to ask why the shadowmail required a deliver. Though the man had explained, she was feeling as if he hadn’t quite told her everything. Delivers were rarely used though. This made her even more doubtful of why the man had come. Only important consignments used a deliver. Was the letter that important? Or… the second question send shivers down her spine: or was the man curious about its origin as well? He certainly was, but why? What if he knew more of it? He could have read the whole thing beforehand, that had explained his amusement earlier. Maybe, she thought, maybe he’s faking me all the time. Her eyes wondered to his facepiece and narrowed.
What do you want from me?
‘Then, how am I ever going to find out whose work this is?’
‘Follow the shadows.’
Follow the shadows? She inclined her head. Despite being a quick thinker, Mr Sneaker’s straight logic didn’t quite fit in her mind.
‘The one known to the path, back may find. And so can the shadows also walk the tracks. The way back is there.‘
The way back… Her brain began ticking. The man was referring to something she had never heard of; tracking an anonymous sender by the laws of the mail itself. Of course, with regular mail it wasn't so uncommon if only, the letter's author signed it, finding him would be easy. But this wasn't a regular way by any means, but could it still work? Provided that the mail ended up where intended, could the same thing also work backwards? And how so?
The man answered the question in her stead, ‘You must pronounce the sender’s words backwards, that is.’
Backwards?
But how can I ever know what he or she said?
‘I see you haven’t done a delivery yourself before.’ The stranger smirked while he gave his wrist another spin in the air. ‘That’s the second key to open the lock if you please. As the one held accountable for the mail, the shadows entrusted me these words.‘
He took a little break to ensure she hadn’t fallen off the ride. Mr Sneaker dug a small piece of paper from somewhere under his cloak and cleared his throat. ‘Now listen carefully and memorize this: ‘Oi, jylhä vuori - ’
Mida’s heart sank as soon as he spoke. The words weren’t Mirayae as she had hoped.
‘- ken varjoissain seisoo - ‘
She winced. To her horror, the man spoke in Meir.
‘- mi’ varjoissain makaa - ‘
His pronunciation sounded funny. The r’ grated and s’ hissed. It felt unnatural, here and there she could perceive familiar sounds, but the words were strange. Despite the funny sound to the man’s speech, his pronunciation was, undoubtedly, far better than hers. And the mere thought of trying to memorize all that terrified her, without speaking of repeating it backwards.
‘- minne käy ei tie edes reen. Kiitää taivas kiitää maa, kantaa yli maiden, merien,
saleihin pimeyden valtiattaren!’
The man cast her a wide and ironical smile as if to say: here you go. To that, she answered with raising her fan higher over her face.
‘Well, at least it’s worth a try,’ he teased.
Worth a try!? I don’t even know what that means! Though she was quite sure there had been quite a poetic vibe to the words it did not help much if all was like pure Ancient Mirayae; not understandable.
She had wanted to throw the stranger with something, knowing it had been the last step over the sacred line - though the man had deserved it having already crossed the line himself long ago - nothing except for the letter she still pressed in her hands was within reach. And a paper lacked both: heavy mass and good flying skills. Instead, she folded the paper away inside her sleeve and considered whether the fan would do, but it was perhaps too fancy to be wasted on him although it wasn’t her finest.
Is every shadowmail deliver like this? Is ever delivery like this?
‘Or perhaps use this paper for that.’
He took a step towards her, but before she got to move, let alone withdraw, he had her hand in his. Glove, she noticed and the next instant he placed something on her palm, gently curling her fingers round it as he bowed. So close was he the wolf’s nuzzle almost braced her chin. She hoped she had at least had her ougi at the ready to shield her face from the man, but now nothing was to be done. She darkened her face hoping the eye holes in his mask weren’t quite effective, or that his night side was poor. Though why come to darkness if the dragon’s eyes were sharper? It didn’t quite add up.
This close she could smell the rosy scent that wafted out of him, mingling into her soft wisteria. That rose though had a sharper fragrance that she had used to. Mida felt herself shivering thoroughly under the voluminous robes. There was something in that guy that did not only send chills along her spine but, rather, froze it as a whole.
‘It’s not in my power to say which way you do it as long as it works,’ he said, still pressing her lithe hand. ‘Which reminds me, you need not repeat all that, if you know the calling words just use them.’
Calling words? And what could those be? She got to think it no further as the man bowed and let her hand go. Mida had wanted to break loose his disguise but her fingers didn’t obey, they just kept where they were as if frozen in place.
I don’t even understand the first word! Her mind shouted at his alienating cloak.
Oi…?
Though she doubted it to be anything special. Probably just an appease. About the rest of the words though, she hadn’t the faintest idea. They could mean anything! Really, anything!
Meir, a phoenix…
Mida found it hard to get words out of her mouth. She still couldn’t trust this guy, but there was something to his claims as he spoke. Finally, she couldn’t bear it anymore, the bad suspicion that kept triggering her mind. ‘Does this mean, I’ll go North?’
‘I believe, it’s for you to turn the stones and see.’
Thanks for your guidance. She stared at him. A festival is coming, my rulership is on its brink and now you expect me to travel to the other side of the world? As if my absence would go unnoticed!
Again, the stranger was one step ahead of her. ‘Rest asserted, with the shadowmail, you’ll be there in no time.’
Thoughts spun in her head. He had spoken of tracking and following, but it hadn’t sprung to her that she was to become the delivery, now. A tidal wave of questions rushed over her, only to be replaced by another. It wasn’t so bad an idea to just let the shadows show the way, but melting with them? Unlike the man, she wasn’t a messenger of the shadows. What would exactly happen when a living being did that? Would she get shadow stains like the envelope? If so, would they also vanish when she completed her journey? Was that why the man wore that mask; to protect his face from the shadows though why was it wolf? If that was the case should she wear one too? He had mentioned they could turn a bit disobedient…
Better experience that as a dragon.
One question though, rose over the others rotating round her like a whirlpool of qualm.
Why do you want me to leave?
She wasn’t stupid. And now she could smell not just one but two rats. One for the cause why the man had come here in the first place, the other for the suspicion that Mr Sneaker had a reason speaking behind his lips to get her away from here. Finding out the right sender interested her, especially because she had no idea how urgent it was, but she couldn’t leave the treasure unsecured while she was away.
Her gaze fell to the letter. The thing felt as if it weighed more than a paper this weathered and fragile should. She checked it for one last time. The marks were dark and smooth, clearly fresh. Then, why was the paper old? It didn’t make sense. She sighed, this was all too confusing. Mida looked up at the man, nothing in him implied he was in a hurry.
He is just waiting for a reply, she figured. And he shall wait forever if I do nothing.
Fine. ‘I’ll go,’ Mida said at last. But not just yet, she thought to herself, hoping she had pronounced the right ‘spell words’ to make Mr Sneaker disappear from her sight. Hopefully, for good.
Farrvaarh, whoever you are you’d better be worth finding. An old saying popped into her mind just then: the dragon never leaves her nest twice, and even if she does once it’s better to be a good reason. Or the rage may follow, and that is to be terrible.
The stranger smiled. ‘Your letter, your decision. I shall leave you now, may we meet again.’ The man shadowstepped, she was sure as if everything else but his shoe soles stayed over the floor. Mm, if that was so, maybe his shoes weren't that much of a problem after all. Or could they leave trails, what, shadow trails? If that was like dust she wouldn’t mind it, here but maybe brought in by him things would be different. She craved none of that stranger’s pride or trails to come ruin her parent’s honour. Yet, he had given her something, a reason to leave, a reason to believe him if that was worthy of that.
Ah, no we won’t, we absolutely won’t may, she thought, her cheeks almost flushing red. Mida gave her skin an even deeper colour as to hide all the fury storming inside her head. There was something truly irritating about the stranger, she couldn’t dress into words and if she had, she doubted the gods nor ancestors had liked it.
He backed away a few steps until a thick veil of shadows grew round him. This was the worst part: the first time ever her darkness-sight failed her. Where the shadows grew thicker and she should have seen shapes, there was, really, just blackness. Did he melt with the shadows as his nickname implied? Was that his secret; the shadowmail? Or did he just put on a magical cape, become transparent and walk outside? She couldn’t tell. He just literally vanished, like smoke in the air, like the sun hid behind the clouds, like tofu melted into the steaming soup, just like that. Without sound, without notice. For one blink he was there on the other he wasn’t.
Will my transporting be like that as well?
Her fingers fiddled the label as the complete silence fell into the room. She remained staring at the torn paper he had given to her. Mida’s hairs rose up. Suddenly, the privacy was no longer so tempting a place to be.
A maidservant approached her along with a guard, who politely kept his look down at her sleeves. Mida smiled to herself, he was so unlike the shadowy stranger.
'That was quite a long prayer. Though I thought I heard a voice and laughter, did somebody interrupt you, Hime-sama?'
Mida looked into the young maid's eyes before saying. 'No, should you have heard anything it must have been only the kami enjoying themselves.'
Hanako regarded her but nodded. Mida noticed the guard's jaw tighten but he raised not his gaze, not even once as they escorted her back. Nobody either noticed the small paper behind her fan she glanced with doubt in her eyes.
Story and the characters © TheStarlightPrincess
Don’t use without my permission, thanks.
Don’t use without my permission, thanks.
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(Editing: in progress) Prologue <- -> Next Chapter (working on it)
A big thanks goes to 
and our lively discussion that created this mailing system we now know as: the shadowmail. Which without this chapter couldn't have gone this far and had possibly ended up to the bin. And thank you for all the lovely people who have given their thoughts thus far, I couldn't have made it this far without you! Thank you, all! 
and our lively discussion that created this mailing system we now know as: the shadowmail. Which without this chapter couldn't have gone this far and had possibly ended up to the bin. And thank you for all the lovely people who have given their thoughts thus far, I couldn't have made it this far without you! Thank you, all! EDIT: Good news! The whole chapter is now edited, including the description!
Short introduction (aka 'blurb'):
The Dragon Kingdom's only princess and heir, Mida is weighed down by qualms. the precious heirloom is missing, the festival draws near where she's supposed to hand it over to her betrothed. The citizens though know nothing of this as a replica stands in its place. Only Mida knows the orb lacks the sacred power of the Thunder Dragons... However, she still believes it to be somewhere inside the palace walls, but the clock is ticking...
Desperate, she visits her deceased parents' shrine also to find answers for her questions. But seeing the relic brings new worries; why does she lack every memory of her parents? And how is she supposed to coax with the idea she'll soon be leaving all behind - including the elves she knows - by moving far from home with the strong prince of the fire dragons?
To her puzzlement she suddenly hears a mocking noise that appears not to belong to any kami. Who is the stranger that has intruded to the holy place? Why does he wear a mask and what is the meaning of all this?
Here we are once again! 
It's been long since... okay, the previous version was 7 842 words this one 8 989. My mother told me it's no editing, well...
It's been long since... okay, the previous version was 7 842 words this one 8 989. My mother told me it's no editing, well...Word counts aside! I hope there isn't too many left over sentences/phrases. I did dumb the whole thing to Grammarly and winced at all the spelling errors... sadly ProWritingAid can only take like 500 words per time, and needless to say, it would take quite an aeon with this text... 
Plus, it's a whole new thing to read it in sections than as one entity.
Plus, it's a whole new thing to read it in sections than as one entity.Feedback:
1. Grammar, (I fear even though it comes through spellchecks there's still some nasty errors lurking there...) Any suggestions to word order, too long/ complicated sentences, repetitive phrases etc.
2. I changed quite everything, from the beginning at least, but I like this version a lot better. Besides the previous version had too many questions, it didn't quite work how Mida discovered the family portrait just now. And I think it's better with the fan. (Actually, got this idea on a buss when I was fanning my face and my brains played back to this scene, yeah, writers always at work...) So now, instead of her wondering why she hasn't found that scroll before the question is: why doesn't she have any memory of her parents? And that's how I wanted it to be, in the first place, I just wasn't sure how as back then I didn't quite know the answer. Well, why indeed?
3. I hope it reads more 'Heian Japan'-like now, with a fantasy twist, heh. I've done a lot more research since my previous edit. (Though there's still tons of things I don't know, so feel free to correct me!)
Like, I discovered shouji screens were invented later, so I completely removed them. The Heian Japan seemed to really like those portable multipanelled silk portions (kichou, and as you can see here, they divide rooms:i.pinimg.com/236x/90/e0/e8/90e…), as well as those blind folds hung from a ceiling, above a doorway and so (sudare). As far as I understood no windows existed in that period though they did have storm shutters. It was also against the rules for men to look at a woman or even smaller girl in the face (before they were in a strong romantic relationship) so conversations were often had behind these sudare blinds and the ladies hinted their beauty by letting a sleeve show underneath - for the sudare were often open at the bottom as you can see in the picture. Sometimes even their long hair could be visible for the man on the other side, the long hair was kind of status for the females in the court. If the lady was walking, she would normally have her fan to shield her face from the men's eyes, and men would keep their eyes down at her sleeves and trails of the robes when she passed. This is all only applying to aristocracy, of course, but it's the aristocracy we know the most of, anyway. They wrote down their history, but didn't quite the poor's...
Well, this is just some info, to get better into Mida's head, besides although the lifestyle of Heian nobles is quite terrible, shall we say, it still fascinates me. For example, they didn't like baths unlike modern day Japan, and washed rarely, instead they used all kinds of incenses but can you imagine a noble who does not wash oneself in a month? Yök. XD</sub>
Yök. XD</sub>I have a question though: Mida is afraid making a straight face contact with the shadowy stranger and she's supposed to use the fan to cover her face, but is this clear enough? To me it doesn't quite feel that way near the end, or is it just me? Or overall, are her feelings and disgust towards Mr Shadow's manners clear enough?
4. This is something that will better come into the theme later, but a brief background: There is a royal heirloom, orb that is missing and Mida is desperate, because she will soon meet her betrothed prince at the upcoming festival where as a sign of appreciating the betrothal she's supposed to hand over the orb. But the relic is currently lost although she thinks it's still somewhere inside the palace walls. And a lie about the replica created after the item was lost conquers her people's minds. So my question is, is this enough clear from the text? Does the part fit, I know there's quite a lot of info to take in once again. But since this is one main thing that keeps her worrying, I thought it would be good to include. Or should I emphasise the point? How do you feel?
5. Yes, Finnish hasn't gone anywhere, though I changed the text to even older language and cut one part off which maybe will appear, once we get back to this.
And I can assure you it’s not that important for the reader to know instantly (don't expect much from it though... )and it’s only better the reader won’t understand it now, could help him/her to get better on the characters’ shoes, I guess. Since the characters have no idea of its meaning either.
6. Heian nobles were also good at poetry, art, calligraphy, music, dancing... Actually, many of their activities tested artistic skills. And in festivals or communicating (which was often via letters) one had to be able to pronounce/ write an appropriate poem, fitting for the mood, situation and style. I got heavily inspired after reading the first book of Genji no Monogatari, the world's first novel. Funny though only later I realised I shoved two 'poets' into the same page but they don't quite seem to understand each other, oh well... I like poems, too. XD Though they aren't always easy to come up with and Mida's culture is using them quite often. Well, on the other had I still like her different way of communicating, how about you?
7. I struggled with Mr Sneaker's nicknames, he seems to have quite many. And apparently now the list reads to me as if a story of its own. Have to admit the Mr Out the Window, is currently pure paper creation. But I think it could have some background. Feel free to share your idea of it or new name ideas are always welcome too. 
8. The shadowmail, well, I think explains itself the best when you see it in action. But if there's anything you don't get, point out please. ^^
9. Since incense and fragrances were crucial to Heian aristocrats everybody had their own special scent, whose receipt they guarded well. So I am thinking a scent to Mida, I don't know
wisteria, cinnamon, nadeshiko (the certain kind of Dianthus) but I don't know how those scents mix. lol Well, feel free to share your thoughts. 10. Anything else you'd want to add? Or anything to remove, whatever you feel you need to say!
Thank you so much for your input and time! 
Character, info, chapter, artowork dump folder: thestarlightprincess.deviantar…
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© 2017 - 2024 TheStarlightPrincess
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1. Working on it! this takes me a lot of time 
2. Eh... not really, but it has partly to do with Mida contradicting herself.
I do know the way of the shadowmail, I just don’t know whether I can trust it - but a moment before, she said shadowmail couldn't be trusted because it could be altered thanks to magical reasons:
Whatever came from the shadowmail had to be taken with distrust. And so she did now.
This however contradicts too:
The shadowmail is never wrong,
so how unreliable is it?
I think, in terms of infodumping, you are somewhere in the middle of two extremes: first one involves giving just, but only just enough info to the reader to walk along without causing confusion, the other is throwing so much info at us we know every aspect. You give the basic info: shadows can transport messages. but you give some more info too:
4. He wears a dark cape, he loves shadows, he uses his wits to taunt people, and he smirks. Of course I love him, you just described my favourite kind of character!
5. Nothing wrong with Finnish, I guess
6. I already mentioned the shadowmail, but I'm a bit lost what is going on with those ruins. I can't picture in what state of ruin they are in. sounds like quite a lot of it is still standing, but yet you have archaeologist discovering new bits. How does that work? if a lot of the building is still there, you know how big it is, and therefore have a good indication of what you can find. so are the unexplored bits hidden underground or something, or are some parts of the building collapsed/eroded away so it is hard to figure out what used to stand there?
another point: you said the archeologists are restoring the ruins, right? that's not what an archaeologist does though, he only studies it. actually, an archaeologist prefers not to dig out everything hidden in the ground; digging means disturbing the soil, and the soil can tell so much about the setting. That's why there are geologists working at archaeological sites as well Of course, early archaeology didn't know the value of soil layers, so it depends a bit on how advanced archaeology is in your world. Anyway, conservationists do the restoring.
7. I did get a bit of an Asian vibe thanks to the chopsticks and paper screens, but I think you can weave it in even more. Use words like kimono and silk and such. You can also make up your own japanese sounding words. For example: you can give shadowmail a Japanese sounding name. Especially since the sudden appearance of Finnish kinda ruins the Asian vibe... then again, the common tongue of your characters isn't something that sounds Asian, right? names should fit the language, after all.
If you want to read a fantasy story with a clear Asian vibe to it for inspiration, read the empire trilogy by Feist and Wurts: www.amazon.com/gp/bookseries/B…
(I'll admit I never finished the trilogy because there was only one character I cared about, but the setting is really good)
I want to make a statement first before I continue my comment: you know I'm not Asian and I don't know enough of them to know their culture first hand. What I know comes from classes at university and what the internet told me. If you want to do this right, you shouldn't only ask Asian people, but a cultural anthropologist as well! Aren't there museums about that you can go to?
Anyway, the reason the Empire trilogy feels so Asian to me is because the characters think like Asians (well, I think. They clearly do not think like Europeans). Asian culture involves a super strong hierarchy; there is lots of respect towards your superior, so even if you know your superior is making a huge mistake, you'll not go against his orders. Oh, and honour, of course. Don't you dare to touch someone's honour! In the Empire books, a western barbarian pops up at some point who will immediately point out how his culture differs with that of the main character. That barbarian is that one character I liked by the way, since I couldn't connect with that 'respect and honour' mentality of the others.
I think something else you can throw in here is 'conservative perfection'. I have the idea Japanese culture is much more focused on working your ass off until you have reached perfection, but I don't know if other Asian countries do the same. Anyway, both China and Japan had this moment in history where they were really focused on themselves, and they didn't evolve much because the culture they had worked fine. They perfected what they had, but didn't bother to discover new things. My boyfriend told me once that the reason the Western world became more advanced at some point is because we used clear glass, which you need for lenses for telescopes and such. For some reason, Asia never bothered to dive into this stuff, probably because their pottery was good enough for the things they needed.
Asking permission of others is a bit of a thing too. Western culture is highly focused on doing and achieving things all by yourself, while in Asia, things are done more cooperatively.
So long story short: I think you can make it more asian by letting your characters behave like asians
8. Pff, not that I can think of now, but I've said quite a lot already XD You are making a lot of progress with your writing skills though, keep it up!
9.go for a black pixel. Utter darkness
2. Eh... not really, but it has partly to do with Mida contradicting herself.
I do know the way of the shadowmail, I just don’t know whether I can trust it - but a moment before, she said shadowmail couldn't be trusted because it could be altered thanks to magical reasons:
Whatever came from the shadowmail had to be taken with distrust. And so she did now.
This however contradicts too:
The shadowmail is never wrong,
so how unreliable is it?
I think, in terms of infodumping, you are somewhere in the middle of two extremes: first one involves giving just, but only just enough info to the reader to walk along without causing confusion, the other is throwing so much info at us we know every aspect. You give the basic info: shadows can transport messages. but you give some more info too:
- shadowmail, meant it had gone through a kind of magic and sometimes all of this magic didn’t entirely vanish - okay, so it's magical and it's tricky.
- Are you sure the mail hasn’t mistaken - wait, the mail makes mistakes, as if it is a person, or do you mean 'hasn't been mistaken'?
- to some giving away his name to a shadow is the last straw, - okay, so names are important.
- The shadows were complex things - or rather - beings. Sometimes unreliable, sometimes truly dishonest. You never knew about their way of thinking, one thing, though, was certain: themselves they were never forgiving. They got a bone to pick with you, you drop the mail in and it was lost, forever, devoured by the hungry treacherous creatures, vanishing before you knew and all that was left was the letter’s melted contents in their dusky pelts: they remembered. And they would remember, too. Evermore. - so shadows are creatures too, and quite unreliable.
- Mida didn’t dare to ask why the shadowmail required a deliver. - I am with Mida here, I don't understand this either.
- She had heard of tracking an anonymous sender by the laws of the shadowmail itself. - okay, so there are rules.
- But not all of them knew there was a difference between the shadow you saw on a daily basis casting on things as the light shone bright enough and the shadow that housed in your everyday-shadow. And like your shadow this shadow was a constant being that went along with you, you barely could notice but for the shadowmail, it served as an address. - okay, so it's a shadow within a shadow? I'm a bit lost here, and how exactly this turns into an address.
- ‘You must pronounce the sender’s words backwards, that is.’ - okay, say things backwards to go back, got it.
- You must appease the shadows, - euh, okay.
- This was one part of the mail, the other was a trick. - eh... okay...
- Would she get shadow stains like the envelope? Was that why the man wore that mask, to protect his face from the shadows? - oh, so the stuff leaves stains too...
to shorten this: shadowmail is tricky, can require a deliverer, has rules, needs an address, leaves stains and is somehow done by shadows who are creatures, needs to be pleased, tricked, are complex, unreliable and do some nasty things with names or something. Oh, and people can use shadowmail too to get from a to b. That's a lot of details, but I don't fully understand the concept yet, as if I miss the bit of information that links all of these aspects together. What's with the names? why trick shadows? why are shadows so unreliable, despite shadowmail having rules? I mean, it's good to raise questions, but the number of questions I get here are a too many to remember. Especially since I get the feeling I shouldn't have any questions at all after this read...
This is what I would do: give minimum info to the reader. Just say shadows are creatures that can deliver messages for you, but it's unreliable. and dunno, maybe explain why there is a delivery boy here, but Mida doesn't seem to know that either. You can shove in all the details like the names and the tricks and the pleasing later. The best way to do that is by letting Mida use shadowmail, I guess.
3. hehe, I have the same problem with Orion; he makes everyone look dumb. It's a bit early for me to say Mida is clever and quick-witted, but she doesn't come across as dumb either. a way to make her look smarter is to let her make a snarky remark even Mr. Shady didn't see coming.This is what I would do: give minimum info to the reader. Just say shadows are creatures that can deliver messages for you, but it's unreliable. and dunno, maybe explain why there is a delivery boy here, but Mida doesn't seem to know that either. You can shove in all the details like the names and the tricks and the pleasing later. The best way to do that is by letting Mida use shadowmail, I guess.
4. He wears a dark cape, he loves shadows, he uses his wits to taunt people, and he smirks. Of course I love him, you just described my favourite kind of character!
5. Nothing wrong with Finnish, I guess
6. I already mentioned the shadowmail, but I'm a bit lost what is going on with those ruins. I can't picture in what state of ruin they are in. sounds like quite a lot of it is still standing, but yet you have archaeologist discovering new bits. How does that work? if a lot of the building is still there, you know how big it is, and therefore have a good indication of what you can find. so are the unexplored bits hidden underground or something, or are some parts of the building collapsed/eroded away so it is hard to figure out what used to stand there?
another point: you said the archeologists are restoring the ruins, right? that's not what an archaeologist does though, he only studies it. actually, an archaeologist prefers not to dig out everything hidden in the ground; digging means disturbing the soil, and the soil can tell so much about the setting. That's why there are geologists working at archaeological sites as well
Of course, early archaeology didn't know the value of soil layers, so it depends a bit on how advanced archaeology is in your world. Anyway, conservationists do the restoring.7. I did get a bit of an Asian vibe thanks to the chopsticks and paper screens, but I think you can weave it in even more. Use words like kimono and silk and such. You can also make up your own japanese sounding words. For example: you can give shadowmail a Japanese sounding name. Especially since the sudden appearance of Finnish kinda ruins the Asian vibe... then again, the common tongue of your characters isn't something that sounds Asian, right? names should fit the language, after all.
If you want to read a fantasy story with a clear Asian vibe to it for inspiration, read the empire trilogy by Feist and Wurts: www.amazon.com/gp/bookseries/B…
(I'll admit I never finished the trilogy because there was only one character I cared about, but the setting is really good)
I want to make a statement first before I continue my comment: you know I'm not Asian and I don't know enough of them to know their culture first hand. What I know comes from classes at university and what the internet told me. If you want to do this right, you shouldn't only ask Asian people, but a cultural anthropologist as well! Aren't there museums about that you can go to?
Anyway, the reason the Empire trilogy feels so Asian to me is because the characters think like Asians (well, I think. They clearly do not think like Europeans). Asian culture involves a super strong hierarchy; there is lots of respect towards your superior, so even if you know your superior is making a huge mistake, you'll not go against his orders. Oh, and honour, of course. Don't you dare to touch someone's honour! In the Empire books, a western barbarian pops up at some point who will immediately point out how his culture differs with that of the main character. That barbarian is that one character I liked by the way, since I couldn't connect with that 'respect and honour' mentality of the others.
I think something else you can throw in here is 'conservative perfection'. I have the idea Japanese culture is much more focused on working your ass off until you have reached perfection, but I don't know if other Asian countries do the same. Anyway, both China and Japan had this moment in history where they were really focused on themselves, and they didn't evolve much because the culture they had worked fine. They perfected what they had, but didn't bother to discover new things. My boyfriend told me once that the reason the Western world became more advanced at some point is because we used clear glass, which you need for lenses for telescopes and such. For some reason, Asia never bothered to dive into this stuff, probably because their pottery was good enough for the things they needed.
Asking permission of others is a bit of a thing too. Western culture is highly focused on doing and achieving things all by yourself, while in Asia, things are done more cooperatively.
So long story short: I think you can make it more asian by letting your characters behave like asians
8. Pff, not that I can think of now, but I've said quite a lot already XD You are making a lot of progress with your writing skills though, keep it up!
9.go for a black pixel. Utter darkness