“Mmph…” The Bunny snuggles deeper into her blanket.
There was a dream. There was a dream and now it’s gone.
“Mayumi, wake up.” The voice is amused, on the edge of laughing. Mayumi feels the blanket pulled away from her face. “Time for your present.”
The dream, if there was one at all, fades from memory like frost off a cold glass set out in the sun. Mayumi’s large brown eyes open to see Alma looking down at her with a smile. She can feel the goddess’ hip against her back, sitting on the futon on which Mayumi sleeps. “Hello,” the Bunny whispers to her mother.
“Good morning, dear.” Alma strokes Mayumi’s hair away from her face. Her amused expression transforms seamlessly into something more tender, tinted with sorrow. “Time to wake up and get dressed.”
Mayumi simply looks up at Alma in surprise. This has never happened before. She has woken in Alma’s room, sometimes by her mother, but this is the first time Alma has come into her tiny, almost closet-like room when Mayumi was asleep. Bundled up in a blanket, she wonders how she looks to Alma. Is that the reason for the tender expression? Does she look like a sleepy child? She smiles uncertainly up at her mother and asks, “Did I sleep late? Are the others already up?”
Alma shakes her head, a hint of amusement creeping back in. “No. We are going to sneak out today, go somewhere special.”
Mayumi’s eyes go wide. “Just…you and me?”
Alma nods. “Just you and me.”
The Bunny blinks twice, trying to process it. Since Mayumi awoke to this world, she hasn’t really gone anywhere with Alma, not just the two of them. The goddess has been incredibly overworked, and aside from that, she was imprisoned in the First Ring for weeks. And the younger Bunnies have been more in need of attention. And Mayumi has not exactly made things easy on Alma at times. There was a time when they were hardly speaking.
But now, Mayumi is due to leave for the Academy tomorrow. She hadn’t expected to be taken somewhere. She knows her decision to go away for six months has been as painful for Alma as it has been for herself. And not only the two of them. Last night near the end of the party, she caught Cherry in the kitchen holding Merri, comforting the sobbing, tipsy redhead, barely able to speak herself, saying, “Come on baby, May’s gonna be all right,” and not sounding at all convinced of her words. Mayumi went to them, too sorrowful at the grief she was causing to speak up, but they soon noticed her and pulled her into their embrace.
The younger Bunnies, Kori and Chime and Tulip, don’t really have a grasp of what six months away will mean, so they aren’t as worried about it. But Merri and Cherry had been without her for years, somehow knowing they had others out there who were family, and have only just been united with her. Sage, too, must have heard them and had broken away from Aliyah to join them, wordlessly holding Mayumi as if he couldn’t trust himself to speak without begging her not to go. The look on his face – that alone nearly broke her resolve to follow through on her decision to become Guardia.
Sage eventually went back to Aliyah, and Mayumi had meant to spend the night with Sky, but in the end she went to him to explain that she needed to stay with Merri and Cherry longer. He understood, of course. He told her to go, be with them. She promised to be with him the next night, her last, for at least awhile. They could walk together, talking. But the three oldest Bunnies spent last night laughing and crying together, talking, telling their former lives, and falling silent but for soft moans of pleasure.
Mayumi returned to her own room a few hours before dawn, leaving Merri and Cherry asleep in each other’s arms, Mayumi intending to try to hunt dreams of her father – and now here is Alma, promising…something. Mayumi finds herself grinning. It doesn’t matter what they do. Just time together, just the two of them, that is exactly what she wants right now. “Just a moment!” She springs from the bed and whips off the long shirt she wears as a nightgown, quickly changing into shorts and a simple blouse – “smart casual” as Merri would call it – from a footlocker, looking to Alma for approval, in case it is too informal for what she has in mind. But the goddess merely nods after a moment’s consideration, and Mayumi dashes off to the communal bathroom to brush her teeth, before presenting herself ready.
“Ready?” Alma asks.
Mayumi nods, then remembers. “Oh, the futon!” She quickly flips the bottom third of the bed up, then rolls the rest onto the top third, shoving it away neatly. She’s momentarily irked at herself for leaving the blanket and pillow trapped inside so sloppily, but she can fix it later. Then it hits her. This is the second-to-last time she will do that. Two nights from now she’ll be sleeping on a hard Guardia Academy cot, her bed for the next two hundred sixteen days, well over half of the Insula’s ten-month calendar.
She turns and looks at Alma. “Ready.”
“Let us go, then,” Alma says. “Before the others wake up.”
Slipping out of the bar does not prove difficult. Nor does making their way through the streets, heading toward Little Falls. They talk pleasantly of the previous night’s party, and of the next morning, when they will be walking this very route. Alma will bring Mayumi to the Little Falls portal.
“Do you want me to accompany you?” Alma asks, hesitantly.
“To the Academy?” Mayumi shakes her head. “That would be kind, but no. I…should make the journey on my own. I will be all right.”
Alma looks pleased, and Mayumi feels that she has passed a sort of test. They pass a road that Mayumi knows would lead, if they took it, into the tangled warren where Sky’s apartment is located. She still hasn’t been inside. Sky’s reserve sometimes makes her wonder why he is holding back. Is it only that he wants to take it slowly, and his reticence at being involved with a civilian employee of the station? Technically she is not under his command, but she understands that. And yet, there is something more, things he holds back from telling her. There is some secret, she feels, that causes him to fall into silences.
Will he, in this time apart, find someone else? She hopes so, and she has told him, though the thought he might no longer want her makes her feel sick. It would make things easier, simpler. But she has given up so much already. She glances at Alma, beside her. All the years, twenty-two years, apart. And those years in a dream that she can now only catch in fragments here and there, that too almost completely lost to her. She does not want to give up anything more that she truly does not have to.
But she is doing that now, isn’t she? Giving up six months with those she loves to pursue a dream. Why?
She steels her resolve. She is Guardia. She was in her dream life, and she will be again. Any doubts are unworthy of her. This is her path.
“You’ve been quiet,” Alma says.
Mayumi snaps out of her reverie. “Oh, I…I was just thinking about tomorrow.”
Alma looks at her, sympathy written on her face. “You’ll be fine, Mayumi.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about.” Without looking up, she reaches out and catches Alma’s hand, squeezing it, and feeling a reassuring squeeze in return.
“We will be all right too,” Alma says. “You just focus on your studies. If you were to need to repeat for another six months…” She shakes her head, unwilling even to consider the thought. “No.”
Mayumi feels the soft ruff of fur on the back of her neck rise, as if a mild electric charge were in the air, or had just left it. Has the magical level changed a bit? She looks around. “Are we in Little Falls?”
Alma nods, and then nods again toward the plaza ahead of them. It is a plaza Mayumi has seen twice before: once in the light of morning, like now, with Sky, when he took her to several other wards to make sure that she and the other Bunnies would not fall ill in low- or high-magic environments; and once with Alma and Gwydion and all the rest of Alma’s children, bodies of assassins and thugs scattered about, Saira’s arrows sticking out of them like deadly pins, slashed wounds by Alma’s sword and Gwydion’s magic, and Mayumi holding her own blade, standing before Cherry and Merri, also armed, ready to fall to the teeth of hell hounds to protect the others.
Three Rats does not have its own portal. Little Falls is by far the older ward, having arrived at the Insula Caelestis longer ago than anyone Mayumi has spoken with can remember. And the portal, here in the plaza, is just about as old, the silver-and-brass oval frame simple, less elaborate than those in some of those other wards. It sits on a raised platform, three steps from the street. Already this morning there are people using it, tearing expensive tickets from small books that can be purchased for those, often merchants who have need of long-distance travel. The people of Little Falls are barely more prosperous than those of Three Rats, but trade must go on.
Mayumi looks at Alma, the question plain on her face, but she doesn’t ask. The mischievous smile on the goddess’ face tells her that the surprise will remain a surprise until the right moment. But the smile, Mayumi sees, is fragile, just barely shaky, with nervousness.
“It is our turn now,” Alma says. “Ready?”
Feeling her heart pounding, Mayumi nods. Together, still holding hands, they step through. As a goddess, Alma has no need of tickets. She pays directly, in the mana needed to power the portal, paying just a little extra to bring her mortal companion through. And a little extra beyond that, as Sky has told her, as a tax. The portal system was built by gods, for gods. There had been a time when mortals had no way of using it at all, and even now the enchanted tickets are only sold to mortals reluctantly and with considerable paperwork, so that users can be tracked.
As they step through, the portal flashes gold, and Mayumi’s stomach flips as she feels just for a moment that she is falling, as if she’s missed the last step on a stairway. Then they are elsewhere.
The portal they step out of is more complex than the one in Little Falls. It is the color that catches Mayumi’s eye, causing her to turn her head. She would call it simply red, but in Three Rats they would consider it red-orange. It is the color that Mayumi learned to color the sun in drawings, though the orphan children at Ewá Nanã’s home choose yellow. Her eye follows up the thick wood frame, its inner edge only made of the alchemical silver and brass that is part of all the portals she has seen. At the top, she can see a cross-strut with a plaque on it bearing kanji characters saying Sawara-machi, or Sawara Town, a name that shakes her so that she nearly does not see that they have just exited from a portal in the shape of a torii, a free-standing, sacred gateway, in the myōjin style, the upper crossbar above curved upwards at the tips. She knows it. She knows it well. She releases Alma’s hand and steps backward, away from it, her eyes wide and fixed, until she gets far enough away and yes, she can see, atop the kasagi, the upper crossbar, are stones. Small stones, tossed up by children, sometimes adults. It is very difficult to get a stone to land atop the kasagi and stay there, but those who manage it experience great good fortune.
She managed it once, when she was fourteen.
Her heart is beating so hard that it hurts. She can hear it distinctly in the throbbing capillaries of her ears. She is nearly hyperventilating. She turns, looking over the rooftops that spread below the ridge they are on. The Insula, a mountain floating in a sphere of Reality amid the endless Void, is steeper here than in Three Rats, and the streets are a maze of slopes and steps. The roofs are made of interlocking ceramic tiles, glazed black or a near-black blue, many trees and small gardens scattered among them, a swath of parkland, a large square building with a wide open space on which children are running, playing, racing each other, one class following their teacher in calisthenics. She can’t hear the music or see exactly what they are doing – it is a bit too far for that. But the muscles in her legs twitch in a desire to do those exercises that she has done so many many times before.
She suddenly sucks in a deep long breath, putting her face in her hands to shut out the overwhelming vision. She does not know whether she is about to scream, or moan, or laugh. Two hands come to rest on her shoulders, and she turns and throws her arms around Alma’s waist, her fingers almost painfully digging into the goddess’ back, and her body decides to weep, powerful, silent sobs shuddering through her frame.
The gentle stroking of her hair and ears slowly brings her out of this deluge of disabling emotion. She becomes aware enough to start controlling her breathing. A stab of shame – You are acting like a child! she accuses herself – is washed away by the thought, It is real! It is real! My home is real! She leans back slightly, and looks up at Alma, blinking away vision-distorting tears.
The goddess, worry becoming happy relief, smiles and says softly, “Happy Year’s End, Mayumi.”
Mayumi looks up at her, shaking her head slightly. “I…” She pauses, swallows. “You could not have given me a more precious gift.”
Alma’s smile turns into a grin of pleasure. “I wasn’t certain if the real Sawara Ward and the dream one would even resemble one another closely enough to be recognizable.”
Mayumi releases her and looks around, her mind and eyes clearer. The portal is on the grounds of a shrine to the god of rice and fertility and alcohol and general good fortune, the main gate guarded by two stone foxes. The houses below are less colorful, perhaps, the trees not quite as large. Is it simply her memory that is amiss? Or is it truly different? Perhaps both.
“It does look a bit different,” she says, “but I would know it even if it were far more changed.” She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, and laughs at herself. “I’m sorry. I…overreacted.”
Alma shakes her head, still smiling. “Care to give me the tour, then? All I know is how to get here.”
Mayumi nods. She hesitates, looking toward the main altar of the shrine to Inari, but not wanting to keep her mother waiting, resists the urge to make a prayer, promising herself she will return later to show her respect to the god. She bows instead, hands pressed together, then turns and takes Alma’s hand, leading her down the long stairway and into the ward.
Its narrow, winding streets are still far more orderly than those of Three Rats, far easier to negotiate, clean and well maintained. The people resemble Mayumi, superficially – her pale-olive skin tone, the gracile build, dark hair and eyes with epicanthic folds, face flatter than most people in Three Rats – though they are taller than her and lacking her Bunny ears and tail, the black, soft fur on her calves and forearms. Those who see them pass bow reverently to Alma, who, though not especially tall for a goddess, is still taller than the average human woman and somewhat towers over many of the Sawara residents. Her white hair and ethereally pale skin, along with a mild but noticeable divine aura, mark her as a goddess. The mortals hardly notice Mayumi beside her, and their whispered expressions of wonder fade as the pair walk further into the town.
“I can see that people are not very used to gods here,” Alma mentions as she looks around. “It is a pretty place.”
“We have a few gods here, but they stay hidden from the people except for special occasions.” Mayumi wonders at her unthinking use of “we.” This waking-world version of Sawara Ward – she has never been here. But she lived nearly her whole life in the dream version of it. She shakes the thoughts away, her ears knocking against each other, and continues, “Only the priests and shrine girls get to speak with them regularly.”
Alma nods. “I know a cousin of mine is in charge of this ward. But she will not be here today.”
Mayumi glances at her, eyes a little wider. “There is a Shinigami, a Death Goddess. She appears to us in the summer festival of the dead. I had no idea she was…your family.” She does not mention that the people here only speak of her in hushed voices, afraid of attracting her attention. Mayumi herself had always wanted to meet her. She did not at the time that know that her mother was a goddess at all, much less of the Death Clan, but she still somehow felt drawn to the unnamed goddess known only as the Shinigami.
“All death gods are my family,” Alma explains. “One way or another. Some are brothers, others are cousins. My uncles, aunts and my father’s other wives usually stay in the Inner Rings.”
Mayumi smiles. The way Alma speaks casually of family. She knows, from things Alma has mentioned, that relations with her family are not always perfect. But Mayumi had only known, growing up, that somewhere, somehow, she had a mother, and that this mother yearned to be with her. She could not say how. If she ever dreamed within the dream-world, she cannot remember. But she knew, though at times she wondered if she were merely fantasizing it.
And here she is, in that same ward. With her mother beside her. She feels a swell of love for the goddess that makes her feel she could almost burst. She feels her face flush, wanting to say it but…not here, in the road.
“Well, this is the school. It…looks rather different from the dream version. I remember it as far larger. But still, in a way it looks the same. And that is the Guardia station. And down this lane…”
The low walls along the narrow lane are the same, just the same. They are made of blue-glazed brick, topped with the same sort of curved, interlocking shingles as the roofs of the houses. In the walls are small wooden gates leading to the gardens in front of every house here, with flowers and berry bushes, plum and cherry trees, bonsai looking like miniature ancient pines, gnarled and twisted by ocean winds that have never reached this ward, here in the Third Ring. There is an overfed cat watching them curiously from atop the brick pillar beside one open gate.
She knows, just down this lane, is the house she grew up in. Will he be there? Is he well?
Will he know me?
Her feet feel as if they are set in concrete.
Alma squeezes May’s hand reassuringly. “Why don’t you go ahead, and I will follow?”
Mayumi looks up at her, swallows, and slowly nods, squeezing her mother’s hand tightly, feeling a mix of dread and excitement. For a long moment, Mayumi continues to hold Alma’s hand, but finally, she drops it. She turns, takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, and walks ahead down the lane.
Ishijima Sueyoshi, Guardia Popula Inspector (retired) for Sawara Ward, sets down his little kama hand-scythe and sighs despondently. The garden is dying. Rust is spreading through it like fire, discoloring leaves and killing the flowers and herbs he has labored over for years. Even his beloved old friends, the four trees, one at each corner – Ume-chan, the plum tree, whose blossoms are so lovely in spring and from whose late-summer fruits his neighbors make a delicious liqueur; Mikan-chan and Nashi-chan, who bear for him tart mandarins and juicy pears in autumn; and Sakura-chan, who produces no fruit but whose cross-pollinated cherry blossoms bloom snowy-white and nearly-red in gorgeous unpredictable patches, out of season, always during this most sacred of times, the New Year, for longer than Sueyoshi has been alive – they too are being devoured by the rust.
His legs folded under him, he lets his shoulders slump. He has been retired now for sixteen years. He had not wanted to retire; he was only sixty-two, a good thirteen years younger than his father, the previous Inspector, had been when he retired. But the irregularity in his heartbeat had become worse, and though being an Inspector is mainly a desk job, he had thought it for the best to allow young Sergeant Ueda to ascend to the position. And Ueda, the first woman ever to lead the Guardia of Sawara Ward, has done an excellent job, though Sueyoshi had to have a word with a few obstinate individuals to explain the errors in their overly traditionalist thinking. His heart might be weak, but his ability to convince others not to gainsay him is still strong.
So his retirement had been a good decision. That is what he has told himself for sixteen years. And it is true. A good decision for the ward. But…a bad decision for himself. His heart, which supposedly needed rest, has only become weaker. The touch of the priest of Ebisu, channeling his god’s healing power, only temporarily relieves the pain and shortness of breath. Sueyoshi can no longer drink that sweet plum liqueur, can no longer drink coffee, can no longer eat some of his favorite foods.
And what, really, is he living for? He has no wife, no children. His parents are gone. He was an only child. And his longest friends are dying off, one by one, with few remaining. His neighbors are kind. They care for him. And his officers – formerly his officers, that is, the ones he commanded and trained and polished carefully into the pride of the Guardia – they drop by, bringing vegetables harvested from their families’ gardens or other gifts: clothes and wooden carvings, magnificent ceramic bowls and, his favorite, books of fiction and poetry.
He had been embarrassed when they found out his secret pleasure, long before, but rather than finding it silly, those who knew him found it endearing and almost competed to bring him the latest books, or the rarest. And this helped him get through the first few years. But as he weakened further, and as he found himself suffering from a mind-killing insomnia, he truly began to wonder if it was not time to abandon this body and reenter the Wheel of Souls.
That is when the dreams began. That is when Mayumi, his dream-daughter, came into his life.
He cannot remember all the dreams, especially the early ones, but he is sure he remembers the first. He had been dreaming of some mysterious plunderer devouring his plants, night after night, and when he finally caught her, she had turned out to be a young girl, perhaps ten years old, wild-eyed and mute, with long furred ears. He brought her into his home, bathed her, dressed her, fed her. Her fear had quickly given way to a guarded trust, then attentive devotion, though it had been months before she smiled and finally spoke, telling him that her name was Mayumi.
He had found that, since Mayumi came into his life, he had slept like a stone in a gentle stream. Having someone to care for sent him to bed early, sleep effortlessly dragging him into its embrace. He had never married because the girl he had loved, in his youth, had chosen another, and he had never quite recovered from it. He had put all his energy into his work, and then, far too soon, his work was gone, leaving him with nothing. Mayumi gave him purpose again. And in the dreams she had laughed and cried, learned to control the white-hot rage that sometimes seized her, learned what he could teach her. He did not know much beyond the Guardia, however, so he taught her justice. His father, after all, had named him Sueyoshi: The Leading Edge of Justice. He tried to live up to that name, and to show her the same path he had learned.
She had learned well, and had become Guardia. But now…for months she has hardly been in his dreams. Only for moments does she find him, telling him she will find a way back to him, and then she is gone. Something has happened. Something has gone wrong. Or perhaps she has just become an adult, and gone off to her own life.
And he feels he has let her down as well. The insomnia is back, worse than ever. He does not sleep for days at a time. And his heart pains him. Although the cool air is a relief from the unseasonable warmth, he should not be working in the garden. And he must admit, he cannot save it on his own. He will have to call upon others for help. What point is there in going on if one cannot take care of one’s own garden? And though he has always refused even to consider whether or not Mayumi has some sort of real existence, he cannot stop the doubts that tell him he is losing his mind, imagining that which he could never have in reality.
Then, on the little low door set into the garden wall, the wooden catch rattles. The door begins to open, but it sticks, like always. But with effort someone pulls it open. Even this short visitor must duck her head to enter through that door, though her ears brush the lintel.
Her ears. Black-furred, rising from the sides of her head through straight black hair, parted in the middle to reveal a young, frightened face. For a moment, she looks just as she did when he found her in that first dream, seeking something but scared of what she will find. Then she sees him. Her eyes widen, her face lights up, though she is not smiling. She looks at him, almost unbelieving.
It is a dream. It must be. But that is no matter. It is so very, very good to see her. He stands, slowly, and then he feels that familiar pain, and things become dark.
The loud, carrying voice is not directed toward him, obviously, but it rouses him nonetheless. Had he fallen asleep in the garden? Is this one of the neighbor girls calling for help? “I’m fine!” he insists. “Just…fell asleep.”
Then it registers: she had called “Mother!” in Urbia, not Japanese. But then the voice, more quietly, speaks to him in his native tongue, shaky and frightened. “Father…you’re going to be all right.”
The arm around his shoulders is strong, and he turns his head slightly to see the soft, black fur on the upper side of her forearm. He straightens, still sitting with his legs folded under, and looks at her face, tears filling her eyes.
“Mayumi?” He cannot summon any more words. It can’t be. It can’t be real. Have I died? They say that those who dream deeply live on in the land of dreams after death.
She nods. “I told you,” she says. “I told you I would find you.” She smiles weakly.
A shadow moves across them, and a cool hand touches his back. “Mayumi? What happened?”
Her eyes look up at the newcomer, past Sueyoshi’s shoulder. “He saw me and… I think he fainted.”
“I am all right.” His voice is weak, he knows, and he grows irritated with himself. “I…felt dizzy.” He shifts to look at this “Mother” and sees someone who is unmistakably a goddess. Her subtly luminous beauty, her hair white but not from age, her eyes glowing like copper reflecting the light of a crackling fire. “I have seen you…” A dream, almost forgotten, comes flooding back. The hawk that died. The black horse. The goddess on the hill. He looks back at Mayumi, stunned.
A touch of healing power reaches into him, like that of the Ebisu priest, but so much finer, gentler, as if being careful of his old heart. The dizziness disappears and he feels better than he has in years. He barely hears the goddess saying, “Emotions can be overwhelming. Where can we sit, Mayumi?”
They both help him stand, and Mayumi, murmuring, “Over here,” guides them to the wooden deck he built himself twenty years ago, after the old one had begun to rot. Up three steps and then they help him sit on a comfortable chair beneath the overhanging balcony above.
“I am fine, really…” And he is. He feels years younger. His head is still spinning, but it has nothing to do with his heart. How can this be real?
“I am sure you are,” the goddess says. “But you would be even better after a drink of water.”
Mayumi cries, “I’ll get it!” and dashes inside, for all the world as if she lives here.
Sueyoshi watches her go, then looks at the goddess in wonder. “Is this a dream? Or have I died?”
She smiles and shakes her head slowly. Though so pale that she seems almost transparent, her expression is warm. “No. This is the Wakenworld. I brought her to see you, as I said I would. It is her Year’s End gift.”
He nods. “You did.” Even using the more formal Urbia “you” sounds rude and inadequate to him. “Divine one, I cannot say how grateful–”
Mayumi returns, handing him water. “How are you feeling?” She says it in Japanese, in a familiar tone.
“I am well… You…are here.” It is half-question, half-statement.
“Yes.” She smiles, though her warring emotions render it fragile. Then looking from one to the other, she says, “Mother, this is…my father. Father, my mother is, well, a goddess… Her name is Alma.”
Sueyoshi nods. “Yes, we have met.” He looks at Alma, feeling now the slightest bit amused, her kindly manner toward him beginning to overcome his awe of her.
“A certain black stallion showed me this ward in a dream and told me where to find your father,” Alma explains.
Mayumi looks astonished, then pleased, causing Sueyoshi to wonder who this stallion might be. Some god, perhaps, who watches over her? “That was kind of him,” she says, then looks back at Sueyoshi. “I…I can’t believe it.” She smooths his longish grey-white hair, which he has allowed to grow out since his retirement. He feels conscious of his wrinkles. He wonders how she saw him in their dreams. He feels as if he might have been much younger, old enough to be her father, but not, as he is now, her grandfather. Her face flushes, her nose turning pink in the way it always did when she was fighting her way back from the verge of tears.
Sueyoshi takes her hand, comforting her by murmuring, “Yes, yes.” This radical adjustment in reality will, he is sure, take time to sink in, but it is time to treat it as being as real as it so obviously is. He asks Alma, “Divine one, can you both stay? I…I did not prepare the usual feast, being alone…but I can gather some things from the neighbors.”
Alma shakes her head. “I brought Mayumi here to spend the day with you. I, however, cannot stay. There is a family ceremony I must attend in the Second Ring.”
“You can’t stay?” Mayumi asks, distraught.
Alma shakes her head. “I am afraid not. Every year, on this day, all the Life and Death gods meet to part with old souls and prepare the new lives for the coming year. It is our most sacred ritual. And I will see many family members I have not seen in a whole year.”
Sueyoshi feels a pang of pride at seeing Mayumi’s disappointment turn to stoic acceptance. “Thank you, Mother. For bringing me here, for…” She closes her eyes, words failing her momentarily, then opens them again. “For everything. When will you return?”
Alma hesitates a moment, thinking. “Well before sunset, I think,” she says. “Enjoy your time here.”
Sueyoshi stands. He nearly sinks to the floor again in order to perform a full prostration of the deepest respect, but something about Mayumi’s closeness to her, the lack of formality, and what he remembers of the goddess from his dream makes him change his mind and instead perform only a standing bow, albeit one with his back fully bent, his palms pressed together in gassho, as if in prayer. “I will be more prepared when you return. Though whatever repast I have to offer will be far humbler than you deserve, I hope you will join us then. My deepest gratitude for this gift of time with one I have only known in dreams until now.”
He feels those cool hands on his shoulders, nudging him upright. He straightens slightly and raises his head to see her bowing herself, not deeply, but to him. A goddess, bowing to him. He feels reality crumbling further. But then, this is the person his daughter calls Mother, just as she calls him Father. What world has he tumbled into?
“It will be my honor to join you then,” Alma says. “And I assure you that I was never one for feasts. I prefer quiet moments.” She hesitates as if remembering something. “By the way…” She looks up, and Sueyoshi follows her gaze, to where a slightly darker patch of blue moves across the sky. It comes closer until it resolves into yet another figure from a dream, the phoenix, glittering in the sunlight, a flash of some jewel dangling from its neck catching his eye. The magnificent wings spread, cupping the air, and the bird lands on the almost-black age-gnarled branch of the sakura tree, the weight shaking the branch so that a number of rust-eaten leaves fall. The phoenix begins to preen its feathers back into place, the brown, tear-shaped gem at its throat gleaming. “I truly am sorry for your hawk,” the goddess says. “It seems that Starfax has guided him to…different skies.”
Sueyoshi realizes his mouth is open, and closes it. The hawk, yes, which he had found injured, which he had hoped to give to Mayumi, in dream at least, and which had died. “I am happy to know that poor but noble bird was helped by such a magnificent creature.”
His eye catches movement beyond the bird. The heads of his neighbors are peering over his wall, staring at the astonishing visitors, the white-haired goddess and the rabbit-eared girl. He glances at Alma, hoping she is not bothered by his nosy neighbors, but though the way her eyes crinkle in amusement shows she is aware of them, she does not seem to mind. She favors him with another smile, and turns to leave. “Have a lovely day, both of you. I will see you this late-afternoon.”
The wind picks up, and the air fills with the scents of the unblooming flowers of his garden. But they are not unblooming. Even those which are out of season are, within moments, budding and then opening fully. Leaves along nude branches burst out in seconds, healthy and green, and blossoms of cherry and plum are covering their trees as Alma walks past them. Around the edges of the garden, hydrangeas and cosmos bloom, and the other two trees are beginning to bear mikan and nashi, mandarins and pears.
By the time he looks back, he sees the goddess has already passed through the low doorway, gone, leaving behind her gift of life. He looks at that gift, beside him, smiling at him and taking his hand. He encloses her slender hand in his, the memories of walking with her, hand in hand, in her childhood, once again robbing him of the ability to speak.
On its perch, the phoenix Starfax prunes a rebellious feather back into perfection, and then with a glance of her ambarine eyes at Mayumi, opens her wings and takes off into the heights.