木村沙織

Light footfalls echoed through the shrine’s inner courtyard, barely audible over the driving rain. The muck underneath Saori’s feet supported her weight, the water drenching everything but her slender form. As she passed through the wooden arch to enter the honden, she rested a hand on the wooden frame and paused to inspect the inner shrine complex. Tenmangu-Jinja hadn’t changed much since she last visited, the building still well kept by the locals and she could feel the modest offerings from visitors and pilgrims still filled the coinbox plainly, their goodwill feeding power into her. Carving a rift through the barrier between realities, even with the help of her Lucetian companions, had been an exhausting feat and she needed energy. So she’d left them at a hotel in Fukuoka proper and made the pilgrimage to her shrine.

The rain that had begun when she’d neared the complex showed no signs of stopping, and she was too exhausted to even try stopping it. As she padded across the yard towards the altar, a bolt of lightning illuminated a man’s shape on the roof, an enormous bow pulled back and aimed squarely at her.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” a strong, masculine voice called over the storm, causing her to stop and look up with fire in her eyes.

“I am Saori Kimura, also called The Daughter of Wind and Rain and I have come to my shrine to rest,” she answered, barely hiding the tension she felt. .

The bow creaked and lowered, the man hopping down onto the muddy ground. He sauntered over; the sinuous grace of a martial artist obvious in his every step. And it was then that she noticed it. The spark within him, the crackling energy of another divine spark, and it gave her pause. It was familiar, too familiar. When the goddess got a closer look her eyes widened in shock, while the man’s face turned ghastly white. For a long moment, the two divinities gaped at one another, until the man made the first move. He reached out a forefinger and poked Saori gently in the forehead, drawing an annoyed glance from her, as she responded in kind. Her lips tugged back in a smile that his broad face mirrored. This was the last thing she expected to find!

“You…are me?” she stammered, reaching up to touch his cheek.

“Seems so,” he answered with a wry grin, “I’m Shosuke Kimura, The Son of Storms, and I swear I never thought I’d run into another…me either.”
He led her into the tatami interior of the shrine and set about preparing tea, a local blend she’d missed fiercely while she took a seat by the fire. It was still winter, and quite cold despite the latitude, and while she was dry Saori felt a bone biting chill. When Shosuke had finished and they were seated across from one another, sipping the hot green liquid, they eyed one another with intense curiosity.

“How is this…possible?” they both said in unison, which drew a chuckle from the man and a nervous laugh from the woman. Silence fell between them as the gods thought, wracking their brains to figure out what was going on.

It was Shosuke who broke the silence first, his tone quizzical, “You have been gone, haven’t you? Izanagi-sama sensed you had left this reality, pulled by some dark force.”

From around the teacup held in near her chin, Saori nodded, her eyes sparkling with sudden understanding. “I have. I…take it he created you to act in my absence?”

“Hai,” came the expected response, “When you vanished, he called me up from Gama’s memories and set me to maintain things in your stead. Though, I was supposed to disappear when you returned to this existence. I don’t know what happened, but I shouldn’t still be here. You’ve been gone nearly two years. We feared the worst. What happened?”

In answer, the goddess slipped the mirrored locket from around her neck and bid him look into it. He did so, and his eyes widened in a mixture of understanding, fear, and anger.

“This! This is an outrage! How…DARE they contain one of us! We should make ready for war, to punish them and free these other people!” came the heated but again predictable, response.

“No,” she shook her head, “for the moment we should try and figure out how best to get the people who I brought with me settled. Carving through the Kakuriyo is not something I can do again anytime soon, and I fear that I am the only one who could lead the way back. It may take months or years before I am able to, and those people deserve our help. Without them I would be dead, and thanks to my actions they are cut off from their own homes. We owe them our hospitality.”

Shosuke grunted, his temper still ruling, but he nodded in agreement. The mirror had shared with him everything, memories and emotions of the world Saori had left and of the friends she’d pulled along with her. It had been better than simply leaving them to the devices of the Malnosso, but it was still going to present its own share of problems for them. She had a responsibility to help them, and when she spoke, her male counter-self knew he did too. That was her way, and by extension his way. The fact that he hadn’t disappeared meant something as well, perhaps that the greater Myojin were in agreement with her or perhaps that they felt she needed the help.

“Of course. We should go to them, then. And you should contact Yuuna. She’s been good to me, but never wavered from the idea that you’ll return.”

That drew a faint smile, and the goddess gulped down her tea, already feeling stronger just by being near the shrine. She closed her eyes and focused her will, and the storm faded. She’d had enough rain, and it was time to clear away the clouds. She rose and offered her arm to her double, his burly arm taking hers and out they went. Saori’s mind played out various scenarios of how her friends might react to meeting two of her, each one more amusing than the last. Yuffie would try and impress him, and Helios would fiddle with his glasses, exclaiming that it was fascinating. Adele would blink and act confused, while Obi-Wan would regard it all with his passive calm. Harry would probably be his usual self, polite but wary and she didn’t have any idea about how the young Loki or the Abhorsen sisters might react. But each one brought a smile to her face. It meant more of her to go around, and though they shared the same memories and auras, she imagined it was like suddenly having a brother.

Though, after Luceti? Nothing seemed strange anymore.

When Susanoo had ordered Saori to visit America to see what the land of the mysterious Perry was like, the newly reincarnated storm goddess had nearly panicked. She’d avoided it for several years as the encroaching outsiders had required her to keep a close watch on her small shrine. The prospect of leaving her homeland, to go to a new world that no other god had been to was unsettling, and to do so alone and unaided was petrifying. Saori’s trip had passed uneventfully, and she’d arrived in San Francisco without difficulty in the early summer of 1866. As unsettling as it was, Saori had found California to be a lively place. The others who’d travelled with her had all come to immigrate, and to blend in Saori had taken up the image of a poor immigrant out to seek her fortune. The American customs agent had given her a strange look when she’d spoken to him in English, but had shrugged it off when she’d said she was a sailor’s daughter.

The first few days had been quite striking, wandering the streets and exploring the odd new world. It wasn’t long before she’d fell in with a group of Americans who seemed genuinely friendly and interested in what they called “Oriental” culture. She’d been taken in with promises of employment and interesting new experiences. It wasn’t long before they revealed themselves to be false friends, attempting to offer her up to a brothel, a common practice with regards to Chinese and Japanese immigrants at the time. The would-be profiteers found themselves beaten and bloodied, with the brothel set ablaze by a sudden thunderstorm while Saori fled the scene. Eventually, the confused goddess had made her way to Chinatown, where she met men returning from work on something called the Trans-Continental Railroad. It didn’t take her long to tire of city life and set out on her own along the tracks, drawing odd stares from immigrant and native alike. Anyone who dared impede her was met with a beating worthy of legend. After seeing her knock out a man four times her size an American had given her a curious nickname, the “Celestial Firebrand,” and told her that she should’ve been born a redhead. Not knowing what it meant, she’d smiled and bowed, moving on.

Eventually, Saori found her way to Arizona, walking along the tracks like a vagabond from one of the great fables. Out of every single place on the planet, this was the one that Saori hated most. Deserts, of all the horrible places for a storm god to find herself, were quite possibly the most difficult for her to deal with. The suckling dryness of such places had never, ever been her forte, and being here on business from Susanoo made her like it even less. The heat sapped her energy, and periodically she had begun to have to stop and head into a town to find shelter from the arid landscape.

Her most recent stop was a fairly sizeable mining town known as “Silver Bell.” The town wasn’t unlike many of the others she’d visited along the way, save for its relative isolation and its reputation as a den of thieves. Of course, being a foreigner, Saori had no idea of the town’s ill repute. When she first walked in down the main street, a large number of people stop what they were doing and simply stared, eyes narrowed at the lone “Celestial” woman who’d crossed their path.

“Hey, what are you doin’ all alone out here, little lady?” one man hooted from the front of a saloon, while a few of his friends cackled like a swarm of crows. “Lost? Lookin’ fer more o’ yer own kind? We don’t got none o’ yer yella types out here. And we don’t want none o’ ‘em either.”

“Sir, I’m not looking for anything more than water,” she began, but immediately stopped when the swarthy individual hopped off the wooden and began to swagger nearer, adjusting his oversized belt. He was easily twice her size, wearing denim breeches and a roughspun cotton shirt, stained with sweat. A scraggly blonde beard sprouted from his chin, and above a pair of beady blue eyes was a rough mop of golden hair. Metal spurs and a holstered pistol jangled with each step.

“I don’t care what yer lookin’ fer. Ya’d best be getting’ yer scrawy yella behind walkin’. Less’n o’course yer lookin’ fer me. Up close yer not as bad as some a’ them other Calico Queens,” he chuckled.

That immediately set Saori on the defensive, the goddess taking a martial stance, ready to stomp this insolent man into the dust. Her reaction drew a chorus of laughter from all the men around, while the big man merely patted his holster.

“I got me a shootin’ iron, missy. Best drop the act. A little celestial like you’s like ta get hurt.”

“You think me unarmed?” Saori asked, a dangerous glint in her eye as she altered the position of her fingers into a “pistol” shape, causing even more laughter from the gathering crowd. The big man took another step forward, and was immediately struck by a bolt of lightning, leaping from the divine champion's fingertips, blasting through his body and into the sky. He fell with a gurgle, sizzling.

“Bang”

 Thunder resounded across the summer sky, a far off reminder of the storm that had meandered its way across the mountain on its way to the sea.  Grey clouds still flecked the area, mitigating the sunlight that would soon be beating down upon the landscape.  Birds darted from nest to nest, the air filled with a raucous cacophony of crow caws, sparrow twitters, and even the single mournful screech of a lone hawk, though the thrumming of cicadas was nearly enough to drown out the entire avian symphony.

Far below stood a small, rustic cabin crafted entirely out of aged wood.  The brown wood-grain was interspersed with grey streaks, signs of age. The windows sparkled in the post-storm light, the only part of the structure that was in relatively good repair.  A low roof hung over the porch, a pair of rocking chairs creaking in the late afternoon sun.  A lone figure lounged in one of the chairs, feet propped on a gnarled log with legs carved out of nobs in the wood.  A dainty hand was clasped around a steaming mug of hot coffee, the owner’s olive skin glistening with sweat.  Clothed in a faded green sundress, Saori Kimura took a long sip, drinking in the grainy aroma of her drink.  Saori’s other hand held open a rather thick looking book entitled Legends of the American Southeast, which she seemed to be reading half-heartedly.

A small black cell-phone rested on a table nearby, a gift from one of her foreign friends.  Saori had never used the phone, but when she had arranged this trip into the Appalachians the travel agent had insisted that she at least keep some sort of communication device on her.  Such things were usually beneath her, but then again, so were vacations.  This had started as a means to unwind, but had become quite an enlightening trip.  In all her long years, she’d never once travelled to America, or anywhere in what the Europeans called the New World, instead preferring to stay within the confines of Eurasia.  When she’d told Adele of her desire to see the United States, the other woman had been most surprised, almost seeming concerned.  Ultimately, her friend had given her a reliable travel agent, a few books on American culture, and directed her to certain sites.

Upon discovery of Appalachia, Saori had become enchanted by the region.  New York, Los Angeles, and the other big cities that were tourist must-see’s all paled in comparison.  It was like no other place she’d visited before, with the low-hanging mist that permeated the landscape, the humidity, and the periods of rainfall.  She’d cancelled the rest of her plans and decided to merely rent this cabin and read in contemplative silence.  She’d blasted through a dozen books in a matter of days, as a storm blasted through the area, affording her all the time in the world...while drenching the rural backwoods.

Sunlight sparkled across the placid water of Lake Ehime, the lakebed eerily clear in the mid-afternoon sun.  Nestled deep in the forests of Shikoku, secluded from the outside world by the natural isolation of the region, it had remained largely unchanged since the Edo period.  There were no houses and no shops, only a small temple to the mountain gods and an attached house with a thatch roof where the sole inhabitant of the area dwelled.  Yoshiki was an old man whos family had lived in the region for seven generations, and the caretaker of the lakeside. For the last twenty years he’d been employed by the nearest town to maintain the shrine, with supplies dropped off every few weeks by truck.  For the over a dozen years, he’d only see a few tourists and pilgrims a month, and the truck driver never changed.   

Today, however, was quite different.  Instead of the familiar, middle aged Mr. Komata, the supply truck rolled up with a woman at the wheel.  As she parked, she couldn’t help but glance in the mirror, adjusting the worker’s cap that covered her silken black hair.  A pony-tail hung out of the back of the hat, the tip reaching well below her shoulders. Smiling, she hopped out of the car and waved merrily at the old caretaker. 

“I’m sorry, but Komata-san was feeling a bit under the weather today, so they sent me.  I think I’ve got everything that was on your list, with a few extra potatoes and some shrimp too.  I couldn’t get the peppers though, the shops were out.  I’m sure they’ll come next time though,” the woman began with an apologetic look in her dark brown eyes. 

“Thanks,” the elderly man gruffly replied, “Why don’t you get started and it all inside then?” 

The unloading process was slowed, with Yoshiki being fairly demanding of the delivery girl, but each request was met with a polite smile and a curt bow.  As she worked sweat began to trickle down her face, gradually streaming down her elegantly angled cheeks.  Removing her hat, she wiped her brow clean with a gloved hand.  It was clear from her thin frame that she wasn’t usually put into situations like this, her delicate hands better suited to acts of dexterity than physical strength. 

 The cranky old man never so much as lifted a finger to help, instead opting to begin sifting through the boxes and complain, but nothing seemed to perturb the young woman.  After nearly an hour, she finally had the last box in her hands, a satisfied grin playing across her pale lips.  When she moved to enter the open doorway of Yoshiki’s hut and drop it off, the spiteful man “unwittingly” slammed it shut.  The heavy wooden door crashed into her arms, sending the already off-kilter woman falling backwards on her rear, the weighty supply carton crushed up against her tiny nose.

“O…Ohhh, OWWW,” she groaned as she pushed the container off herself, standing up dazedly.  Gently the delivery girl dabbed her nose with the back of a grey work-glove, her almond shaped eyes widening at the sight of the blood that she cleaned off.  With the other hand, she patted her legs and behind, brushing off the dirt from the fall.

“Whats the matter? Get that last box in here!” the old man shouted from inside, which elicited a moan in response.

“I’m trying, you mean old coot.  You shut the door in my face and knocked me down.”

The woman had finally had enough, the cruel geezer finally having gotten under her skin.   She tore open the door and darted past him to find a bathroom so she could clear up the blood.  In her blind rush, she ended up making her way through the living area and into the main room of the shrine itself.  Yoshiki growled and followed, his face a mask of rage at her sudden change in attitude.  When he finally caught up to her, the spiteful man opened his mouth as if to bellow, but no words came out, as though his breath had just left him. In the center of the room the delivery girl stood, her eyes glossed over and fixated on the lonely sanctuary’s only treasure, a mirror.  Moving closer, Yoshiki roughly grabbed her shoulder and tried to pull her away, but froze when he saw what was reflected in the silvery surface she was so entranced by.

The mirror’s image held her own, the same lithe girl with long, black hair, though it tumbled freely instead of being bound.  The face, with its high, graceful cheekbones, pale lips, and small nose remained unchanged as well.  But the mirror girl’s eyes were something more, twin pools of shining brown glass filled with wisdom and experience instead of tears.  The clothing, too, was quite different.  The sky-blue workman’s coveralls were replaced with a beautiful kimono, embroidered with orchids, herons, and stylized images of crows.  For a long moment, both the delivery girl and Yoshiki stared into the mirror, a deafening silence filling the room.

Then, reflection moved, delicate fingers reaching out to touch the surface, stretching out from wherever they were, as though the mirror were a conduit to another world.  There was a sound like breaking glass, and where once there was a delivery girl and the reflection, there now was only one.  Coldly, the kimoni-clad woman turned to the old caretaker, who’s hands dropped to his sides instantly as he kowtowed as low as he could. 

“D…d…don’t hurt me!” he blubbered, fear evident in his voice.

“I had not planned on it.  Your unkindness undid a great wrong.  A bloody nose is a small price to pay for my memories.”

“Wh..aa?”

“You’d not likely understand.  Just remember, my name is Saori, and that mirror is mine.  I expect it to be well cared for.”

  

 As the thunderheads began to rumble in the twilight sky, Saori found herself sitting quietly within the central shrine of Beppu, breathing in the humid air that heralded the coming storm.  July on Kyushu was always a wet, sticky affair with tsuyu in full swing: the perfect time of year for meditating under a wooden roof.  The gentle pit-pat sounds of the first raindrops quickly gave way to a rushing torrent as the bloated clouds unloaded their contents on the landscape.  The sliding door to the honden was held open by fraying pieces of rope tied to the edges to prevent the wind from closing it, but no rain dared cross the threshold to dampen the tatami being used by the Daughter of Wind and Rain.  

Blankly, the divine champion’s eyes fixated on the landscape, as several more massive cloudbanks further darkened the world, blotting out even the moon.  Below the clouds and central to her vision were the ancient trees surrounding the temple complex stoically accepted the downpour. No electrical lights, car horns, or other modern nuisances spoiled the scene, the sheer wildness of the place she dwelled was positively overwhelming.  It was peaceful here, like stepping back five hundred years, when this area had been more than a park and place for teenagers to hide out and smoke.  That at least had stopped the moment Saori had taken up residence in the sanctuary.  

High in the rafters, Samjeok quorked and ruffled his feathers in the dim light cast by the candles burning along the fringes of the room.  The crow’s head twitched slightly as a bolt of lightning slashed through the twilight, illuminating the exterior of the grounds.  Saori’s sharp eyes narrowed as she spotted something moving through the torii arch and into the sanctified space.  A small fox slinked its way across the complex, unaware that something not entirely natural was observing it.  Cautiously, the animal skulked around the edges of the light coming from her candles, hopping boldly onto the covered porch of the shrine to escape the rain.

Saori was not fond of foxes, finding the earthbound canines to be not unlike their kitsune brothers, cunning and untrustworthy.  As the creature grew even braver, perhaps thinking the lit room to be empty, it peeked it’s snout around the corner, testing the air before peering around the edges.  When its sharp, yellow eyes met with hers, the fox let out a terrified yelp but didn’t move.  Saori’s own eyes, almond-shaped pools of shimmering brown, shone coldly in the firelight.

“No.  You may not cross that doorway,” she stated flatly, in a tone that indicated he’d regret it if he did.

Whining slightly, the animal inclined its head and stretched out on the porch, out of the rain but far enough away from her to indicate its deference to her command.  The divine champion closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, taking in what she could of the fox.  She sensed fear, awe, and respect, as well as a feeling of satisfaction.  It was glad, it seemed to be out of the rain, but in awe of her.  High above them both, Samjeok fluttered his wings once more, chirping smugly at the canine.

“Now now, the only reason I put up with you is because I can’t get rid of you,” Saori reprimanded the self-important crow.  She wouldn’t turn the fox away, as all creatures deserved the chance to sit under a wooden roof in a summer storm, even nasty things like foxes.  Perhaps it would look back on the experience of sharing a summer’s night with a storm-god, and remember her kindness.  Or perhaps it would be one of the next little problems she had to deal with, a mad fox with a grudge against her.  In this modern era, who could know anymore…

"Did you see the paper this morning, Saori?"  Grandfather asked, quietly munching away on a piece of dry toast.  His wide, hairless forehead furrowed in obvious displeasure.

"No I didn't, Grandpa.  Why do you ask?"

"Daiki Kubo made the paper again.  You know, that boy you used to go to school with? I never liked that boy, you know? He was nothing but trouble."

Saori sighed heavily, already knowing where this was going.  Her long, dark hair swished as she turned to walk off, hopefully ending the lecture before it started.  Whenever someone she went to school with came up in conversation, the old man would always rant and rave about how stupid it was of her parents to send her to that public high school instead of a respectable private one.  The old man had been a teacher for almost forty years at St. Michael's Catholic School for Girls in Shinjuku, and he was very set in his ways regarding education.

"Bah, waste of space, that school of yours.  Seriously, go check out the paper and see what they are saying about that rat Kubo," he went on, regardless of the fact that his granddaughter was ignoring him.

Flippantly waving one hand over her shoulder, Saori made her way into the next room and flopped down lazily into the recliner, staring blankly at the television which had been left on the local news station.   Hazily, she felt around for the remote control, her hand scrabbling on the table next to the chair.  Finding nothing, her fingers began probing into the seat cushions, her delicate digits sifting through the accumulated dust to no avail.

"Dammit, where did that thing go?"  Saori mumbled, looking around the room.  Groaning, she sank lower in the chair, looking for something, anything, to keep her distracted from the newspaper that was sitting on the table.  She knew what had happened last night, and didn't want to read about it.  But there the paper sat, just taunting her until finally she leaned over and snatched it.  Tearing it open, she thumbed through until she found the article Grandfather had talked about.  The more she tried to avoid reading it, the faster her eyes moved along the page.

"Dammit Daiki.  How could you be so stupid?"