On Midnight Wings

On Midnight Wings

Part I

Unlike most of the monks at Ochita Temple, Kuro hadn’t sought it out. He had been raised there, dropped right in the offertory box and left there. Karasu-sama, the god of the mountain, was not an angry or vengeful sort of god, but sometimes those who felt they’d caused offense abandoned things to him in hopes that it would appease him. Either that, or maybe they just didn’t want him, or couldn’t keep him. That happened too, sometimes.

But whatever the reason, he’d been left in that box, swaddled in a black shawl. So they’d taken him into the temple, named him Kuro, and that was that. It wasn’t an unheard of occurrence. He wasn’t even the only child at the temple. As they got older, some had managed to break away, go out into the world. Some stayed. Kuro had never known another life, and he didn’t necessarily care for the idea of starting a new one now.

Life at the temple was simple. Their meals were simple, their meditations were simple. Following the Path was comforting. It was a goal to aim for, a feeling at his core that he was heading towards something.

Of course, there were some inconveniences to this sort of life, especially since a monk named Bushin had taken up the role of head monk at the temple several years ago. And every once in a while, Kuro felt himself begin to stray from the Path. But he always found his way back eventually.

Whenever these moods struck him, he found that a good, long walk tended to set his head back on straight. Bushin discouraged endeavors such as this. That time should be spent meditating or contemplating the Path. But the senior monks would remind him that all walked the Path in different ways, and he was begrudgingly allowed his walks.

On this particular day, Kuro thought he might be out for a while, so he slung a sack with a canteen of water and some rice porridge for his lunch, and he set out.

He didn’t have any particular destination in mind, and so spent most of the morning winding up and down the numerous animal paths that crisscrossed over the hills. It was loud there, at least compared to the temple, with the birds singing and the wind rustling the leaves of the trees. But the air was much fresher, and he was alone.

He was failing in his training. The destination at the end of the Path was enlightenment, freedom from all suffering and worldly desires. Half the time, Kuro felt he didn’t know what either of those things were. Presumably becoming enlightened would inform him, though by that point he wouldn’t care about them anymore. Sometimes he just simply felt like he didn’t know what he was aiming for.

Usually, the scent of the pines and the repetitive movement of his feet would dispel these worries, but today they did not. And so he kept wandering. He didn’t know how long it was. At some point his stomach started growling, and so he found a log that wasn’t too damp with moss, and sat down to eat.

The porridge was bland, but filling, as it should be. He didn’t think much of it as he continued staring into the distance, just a method to fill his stomach.

Apparently, bland as it was, however, it still had a scent. Kuro paused as he heard a rustling in the nearby bushes. He tilted his head, staying very still. After a minute, a long, thin snout emerged from the foliage, followed by the rest of the critter. It was a fox, and Kuro tensed for a moment before he realized that it was in no shape to steal his lunch.

Its eyes had a dull, glassy look about them. Its red coat was dusty and matted, and despite the tangle, Kuro could see how thin it was. After limping towards him, its eyes cleared for just a moment as it glanced up at the bowl he held in his hand.

Foxes were trouble. As isolated as he was, even he knew that. Late on cold nights, some of the older monks told stories of mischievous Kitsunes and the tricks they played on those who crossed their paths. But as he stared at the pathetic creature, and it stared back at him, he sighed. He didn’t have much of an appetite anyway. And he couldn’t very well let the thing starve. Not when it seemed to be pleading to him.

The fox lapped up the porridge gratefully as he set the bowl in front of it. Kuro didn’t attempt to touch it, just watched it eat quietly. When it was done, it glanced back at him and blinked, just once, before taking off into the trees.

He didn’t quite know why, but Kuro decided then that his walk was done, and it was time to head home.

~~ o ~~

It was only a few days later when a new aspirant arrived at the temple. His name was Aka, a very unusual one, though Kuro supposed he wasn’t one to judge. He ended up helping the newcomer get settled, as he knew the temple inside and out, and the two of them were around the same age.

Aka was a bit of a strange one, Kuro quickly came to discover. He claimed to have come from a different temple, its members scattered after a terrible fire. Yet he didn’t seem to know much in the ways of the Path.

“Back at my temple, we just did things differently,” he shrugged the question off when Kuro asked. “There are many ways to follow the Path, you know.”

He was also incredibly upbeat and cheerful, despite recently losing his home. But he had an answer for that too. “There’s no point in moping around all the time! Sure, I’m sad, but I’ll never be happy again if I don’t try.”

Maybe Kuro was too predisposed to moping himself to really understand, which he certainly didn’t.

The new arrival gradually grew on him, however. It was hard to be gloomy when he was around. Aka just had this… sunniness to him that was rare to find in a monk. One from their temple, at least.

They ended up spending a lot of time together. It was Kuro’s job to go and fetch water for the monks’ daily use, as he was still younger and more fit than most. Now that Aka was accompanying him, they got the work done twice as quickly. Aka was surprisingly strong for how small he was, and would keep up a nearly one-sided conversation with himself as soon as they were out of earshot of the temple. Occasionally, Kuro found it grating. Every once in a while he missed the silence of his previously solitary task. But for the most part, he found it made the work go faster.

“Have you heard about all the things going missing lately?” Aka asked one morning.

“A little,” Kuro shrugged, not necessarily paying full attention.

“First it was Kannon’s glasses, and then Sankei’s new incense sticks. Now even Bushin’s complaining that his ceremonial robe is gone.

Kuro frowned. “That seems like too much to be a coincidence.”

His eyes widening, Aka leaned in conspiratorially. “Some of the others think that it’s a fox.”

“A fox?” Kuro’s heart jumped to his throat. He was paying attention now. “What makes them say that?”

“I mean, it would be just like a Kitsune, wouldn’t it? Everyone’s complaining that their things are going missing in the night. Maybe it’s a fox spirit causing mischief?”

“But why?” Kuro asked, trying to come up with a different explanation. “I don’t think any one of us would have caused it offense?”

Aka just shrugged. “Maybe it’s trying to be helpful.”

It couldn’t be. Kuro was sure it couldn’t have had anything to do with that starving fox he’d fed. An act of kindness shouldn’t lead to hardship. At least not in the world he knew.

He couldn’t help feeling like he might somehow be responsible, as over the next week the problem got worse and worse. Communal tools were going fast, and Bushin in particular seemed to be targeted. This seemed to irritate him, especially when the senior monks asked him if he might have done anything to anger a Kitsune recently.

It was clear the implication that he’d done something wrong displeased him, and he forbid any discussion of spirits of any kind.

“Someone is responsible for this,” he growled. “Some human thief.”

The other monks grumbled that it wasn’t their way to distrust their fellow man, but Bushin wouldn’t hear it. He insisted on tightening the rules around the temple. This meant no more walks for Kuro.

He had been taught not to let his emotions control him, the ultimate goal was blissful oneness with the cosmos, after all. Yet he couldn’t help feeling stifled. And when he was feeling that way, it made it hard to meditate, which made him feel more stifled. Kuro was stuck in a horrible loop, and every moment it felt like the walls were closing in on him more and more.

One of the older monks had tried to intercede on his behalf, but Bushin was clear: there would be no leaving the temple until the thief was caught.

And that was when Aka had an idea. “Let’s sneak out,” he whispered. “Just for the day.”

“We can’t,” Kuro sighed. “Bushin is very clear about what happens to rule-breakers.”

“That doesn’t sound very monk-like to me,” Aka stuck out his tongue. “And we won’t be! We’ll go during the afternoon, so they’ll just think we’re in our rooms.”

Though he had a bad premonition, Kuro really was desperate for some air. Maybe it was weakness. But weakness had a way of convincing one’s self that it couldn’t be so bad to give into it.

And so, the next day, Kuro and Aka made a big show of returning to their rooms after lunch, before sneaking out their windows and meeting up in the woods beyond.

Aka carried a rather large sack, and when Kuro asked what it was, he just grinned and said: “It’s a surprise!”

He started walking, and beckoned Kuro to follow him. “I thought this was just a walk, but you look like you have a destination in mind,” Kuro grumbled.

“Well, I doubt we’ll be able to do this very often, so we might as well make something out of it.”

He seemed to grow only more giddy as they kept walking, until finally he cleared the last layer of foliage. When lie beyond made Kuro stop in his tracks. A wide open meadow lay stretched out before them.

The edge of the woods were on the top of a hill, which gave them a view of the entire valley below. The wind caused the green grass to shake like waves on some distant sea. It was just strong enough to blow some petals off the various wildflowers that dotted the landscape. Just the act of breathing was sweet.

“I…” Kuro stuttered out. “I didn’t even know this was here.”

“You’re not the only one who takes walks,” Aka grinned. “Come on! I found a great spot!” He ran ahead, out into the field.

“A spot for what?” Kuro called, hesitant to run after him.

Aka spun back around. “A picnic, of course!”

This was all very odd to Kuro, nearly overwhelming. The sun was bright above the meadow, and Kuro had to shield his eyes to even begin to gaze upon the impossibly bright colors.

He followed Aka a little slowly, taking it all in. The grass felt cool and tickled his sandaled feet slightly, and the breeze whipped past his face. It almost made his head a little cold. He kept his hair shaved like the rest of the monks, of course, and he wished in that moment he had a cap or something.

But he persevered, since Aka was waiting for him. He wouldn’t have normally been so hesitant, but his temple’s teachings told him that the Path was an internal affair. There wasn’t much of value in the outside world. But this… something about this scene was almost… beautiful.

Meanwhile, on the top of a somewhat flat slope, Aka was already reaching into his sack and pulling out a small blanket to rest on the ground.

“You really planned this out,” Kuro commented as he reached the top of the hill.

“I tried!” Aka smiled.

“But why?”

Though it didn’t completely vanish, Aka’s grin dropped a little. “I don’t know,” he shrugged. “You’ve just looked so… down recently. I wanted to cheer you up!”

“I just don’t like being… cooped up, is all.”

“Of course not! Who does?”

“It doesn’t seem like anyone else minds it.” Kuro sighed. “I think it’s just another sign I’ve been struggling on the Path recently.”

“We all do at sometime or another.” Aka plopped down on the blanket. “Now sit down. I’ve got a feast for us!”

Kuro chuckled, imagining he was being sarcastic. All they had to eat was bland rice porridge most days, after all. But he sat down and humored him. Still, yet again, he was surprised. For from the sack Aka pulled several pieces of the flatbread they only had on special occasions, and a jar full of berries.

“Where… where did you get this?” Kuro asked, a little flabbergasted.

“The berries I picked myself,” Aka beamed. “As for the bread, I’m not the only one who’s worried about you, you know. Sankei grabbed them from the kitchen for me. I wish I had some jam for them, but berries will have to do.”

As he looked at the practical feast, Kuro hesitated a little. “Are you sure we should be eating this so casually? It seems kind of… indulgent.”

“What do you mean?” Aka asked, already spreading some of the berries onto his bread.

“Well, Bushin says that a flavorful diet promotes external attachment.”

Aka chuckled. “That man doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s going to turn into a Tengu, you know. Once he kicks it.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Have you never heard of that?” Aka mumbled through a mouthful of bread. “They always told stories at my old temple about monks who abandoned the path and became Tengu once they died. From then on they spent their days tempting others to follow them!”

“I haven’t,” Kuro admitted. “But what are you talking about? Bushin may be a little stricter than necessary, but he’s not—”

“He’s very good at putting on appearances, that’s for sure.” Sighing, Aka reached into the knapsack one more time, and pulled something out. “I found this in his room.”

It took Kuro a minute to even recognize what it was: a bottle of sake. “But… we’re not supposed to drink.”

“In this temple, maybe,” Aka rolled his eyes. “It’s not even a central tenant. From what I’ve gathered, he just tells you not to drink to have a rule that he can be above. There’s a lot of rules like that around here. Like not letting us outside? Being one with the earth is a key component of the Path!”

“As you know it,” Kuro said quietly.

“As me and a lot of others do. It’s… oh…” Aka finally looked at Kuro’s face. “I was… going to try to tell you all of this a little more gracefully.”

Kuro stared down at his hands in his lap. “You wouldn’t lie about something like this, right?”

“Of course not!”

He couldn’t believe it. No… no, that wasn’t true at all. He absolutely could. In fact, he’d been questioning Bushin’s teachings for quite a while. What else were his walks for, if not to attempt to reconcile the things he was being told with the thoughts in his head? Or maybe that was his weakness talking again. Maybe it was seeing Aka’s convenient words as a way out.

Now he didn’t know what to think.

“I’m sorry,” Aka broke the silence finally. “I wanted this to be a nice afternoon.”

Those words brought Kuro back. Because it was. It was a nice afternoon. The sky was clear, the breeze was gentle, and the sight of the green field speckled with flowers spread out before them on all sides really was captivating. He was a little embarrassed to admit that, despite his age, he hadn’t really stopped to appreciate anything like this much before.

He took in one breath of crisp autumn air. Then, before he thought about it too much, Kuro swiped the bottle of sake from Aka’s grip and took a big gulp.

He coughed. For a beverage enjoyed by so many, that was not how he’d expected it to taste.

For a second, Aka looked almost stunned. Then, as Kuro sputtered, he started laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Kuro asked.

“I… I just didn’t expect you to go for it. I mean, I just finished telling you that you’ve been lied to your whole life.”

“What did you expect?” He passed Aka the bottle as he held out his hand for it.

“For you to grapple with it more.”

Kuro grimaced. “Oh I am, and I will. It’s just… it’s a really nice day. Too nice to waste it with worrying.”

“So, what do you think you’re going to do now?” Aka probed.

“I’m going to think about what you said, and what I think about it. I didn’t really realize it, but I think I’ve been questioning Bushin’s words for a while now. Thank you, Aka.”

“I couldn’t stand watching you wonder what was wrong with you anymore.”

And so the two of them spent a lazy afternoon on their picnic blanket. They ate their flatbread—the berries were incredibly sweet and burst between his teeth—passed the sake back and forth, and stared up at the sky. Kuro felt as if he was waking up from a very long, very sad dream. Despite the slight haze from the liquor, everything seemed so alive, so real, for the first time in a long time.

At one point, Kuro laid back and closed his eyes. The sun felt nice on his face, but it was too bright to look at directly. Eventually, Aka went quiet. Maybe he thought Kuro was napping.

Except that just then, Aka kicked his leg. “Kuro,” he said quietly, and something about his tone brought Kuro back. “They found us.”

He didn’t need to ask who. And unlike Aka, he knew exactly what punishment was waiting for them.