The Hunt

"So you claim you know where to look for one…is that right?" one of the strangers asked.

Kutaru swore he would never again open a door to any soul in the night. Not even if it was merciful Inuore herself.

"Too soon for bears to wake up," he explained, scratching his numb shoulder. "And nearly impossible to find a sleeping one so early in spring. Would have to search through many burrows and brush piles of the forest…"

The two strangers standing on the porch remained indifferent, waiting for him to continue.

Kutaru sighed heavily.

"Still, know a cave where could find a bear. Not a usual one, but a patron of these lands. The Mother-Bear. The cave be somewhat far from here, up in the mountains…yet the effort be worth it."

The night breeze entered through the open door and swayed dried herbs and skins hanging on the wall.

"Good," one of the two said, a short man who apparently was in charge. "That will do. How long will it take to get there?"

"Two to three days. Depends on the weather and how fast you wish to get there. But—"

"You sure there’s no closer place?" 

It was the other one, a bearded man, who interrupted him with uncovered annoyance in his low voice.

"Pretty sure," Kutaru replied. "Your best chance to find one. Would be even better you be back here in a couple of months, though. Won’t be any trouble tracking a couple or others. Won’t take us even a day, won’t climb any mountains either. They be pleased with your offerings. Grant a blessing upon you…you be here for that, right?"

A small pause followed.

"All we need is for you to take us to see that Mother-Bear of yours," the leader said. "And better sooner than later."

Kutaru did not answer at once. Instead, he took his time to watch the two intruders before him more closely. They were as different as day and night, and he could only wonder what cause had weaved them together and taken them to this nameless hamlet at the very edge of Naikirin.

Standing inside the wooden hut, the shorter one emitted an aura of fondness that could hardly be ignored. He was clean-shaven and round-faced, with many gray strands sprouting from his black hair. His easy smile, pleasant manners, and deliberate movements suggested he was no mere commoner. Two swords at his waist hinted at it even more.

Some haori from some castle…

His companion did not cross the porch and bore not a bit of resemblance to the short man. Looking much older, he was lofty, grubby, and insolent, disregarding everything around him with contempt. The long, tangled beard concealed a scar from a bowstring on his cheek and was further amended by even longer hair, making it hard to distinguish his true face. Falling on his shoulders in filthy bunches of hay, the hair crowned his head with a shining bald spot right at the top of it.

The silence filled the frosty air but did not seem to cease anytime soon. The tall man was shifting from foot to foot in impatience. The short one was standing still. 

Kutaru felt a need to break this silence, or else it threatened to consume him.

"You still not introduced yourself…" he muttered.

"We don’t have to," the bearded one barked abruptly.

"Now, now, there is no need to be so rude when you are asking for someone’s assistance," his companion said with a fading smile as he reached into the depths of his garments.

What he produced was a piece of stone—some sort of pale pink jewelry rammed into a perfectly round chunk of granite, no larger than a hen’s egg. The other side was flat, with indistinguishable carvings covering the surface.

Kutaru had no idea what he was looking at. And yet, such a refined and beautiful thing suggested that the two of them were some important men indeed.

Might even be some noblemen…

"My name is Mataro Okiwa," the short man declared with a slight bow. "I am a counselor sworn to the Suodo Gion, the ruler of the lands of Daori-sui, including this…village. To take it further, I am an anointed to Noshida Suodo’s daughter and heir, Young Masu. You should call me Okiwa-ku."

He then glanced over his shoulder. "And my companion is Ako…Ako the Birdeye."

The bearded man only smirked at the mention of his name, his gaze fixed hungrily on Kutaru’s bow resting in the corner of the hut.

"Suodo-en sent us. We are the gion’s servants," Okiwa-ku continued after he hid the granite chunk back inside his robe. "For now, this is all you need to know. I shall tell you more on our way to the cave…if you agree to lead us."

Suddenly, Kutaru’s tiredness disappeared as if blown away by a gust of the wind. He felt a great honor to be attended by some people from the Suodo Gion—even if it was the first time he had heard of its existence. Still, he failed to reason why an anointed to a noble family would personally show up in this forsaken place, escorted not by a party of household haoris but by a…sort of Ako. 

And besides, by no means could his betters be so ignorant as to not know that bears hibernate so early in spring.

Kutaru decided he had permission to know. Or, at least, to ask.

"If your mission be of such great urgency, why—"

"You really start getting under my skin!" Ako the Birdeye cut him off, clenching both of his fists. "Stop wasting our time. Just agree, and we’ll be done with it!"

Kutaru wanted to get mad, but he did not. Instead, sympathy toward Ako penetrated him like a well-placed shot penetrates the game’s flesh. He also wished to put an end to this conversation. As soon as possible.

He refocused. If they were the gion’s people they claimed to be, he just could not refuse them his help. Not after he admitted he knew where to search for a bear.

Things could go nasty otherwise.

Be it their way…

"You be ordered by the gion himself. Thus, won’t deny you," Kutaru finally announced. "Be ready to depart in the morning from the entrance gates. The weather be good, no snowfall, but won’t last for long. The sooner we go, the better."

"So it is decided, then," Mataro Okiwa confirmed with a bow. Ako did not even deem it worth a glance.

"By the way," the counselor suddenly said as he was about to leave the hut. "Might there be a place where four men with one horse could stay for a night? Perhaps an inn or a guesthouse or something?"

Kutaru’s lips curled into a sour smile at the mention of an inn. He vaguely recalled that there had once been one, but the owner had died so many winters ago that Kutaru had long forgotten what he looked like. Or what his name was.

And beyond that, why would there even be an inn here, in this remote wilderness? Who would ever come to stay in this half-dead hamlet?

But now, Kutaru could answer perfectly well just what eerie folk that might be.

"There be an inn for you," he said slowly. "An abandoned house. The one by the frozen well in the middle of the hamlet. Might stay there. Won’t be bothered by the winds…"

This time, Okiwa-ku nodded somewhat sullenly.

"Tomorrow, then," he said and followed Ako, who had already disappeared in the cold of the night.

With his sudden guests gone, Kutaru returned to his bedding without a moment’s delay. His fur covers strongly smelled of sweat, but he was pleased to find out that the warmth was still lingering within them. He swiftly covered himself from head to toe.

Not even a day had passed since Kutaru returned from a week-long patrol in the Forest of the First Hunt. There was a dire need to stay alert at all times, for mountain men raids were not uncommon—especially so far north, at the foothills of the Thousand Elders. And as a huntsman in the far-off hamlet of Raikin-rei, it was his duty to make sure that the forest remained as it was—primeval and untouched.

Or to notify the folk of the nearby settlements if it was not.

But now his well-deserved rest was shattered into pieces. The next morning, he had to guide some servants of the Suodo Gion into the snowy wilds of the mountain woods.

His body was exhausted, yet his mind was in overdrive. He anticipated tomorrow’s return to the Forest of the First Hunt—the place that felt like a true home much more than this freezing hamlet.

And the perfect opportunity to visit the Mother-Bear’s rest.

No reason to complain by any means…about time I pay my respect, anyway…

He woke up just before the first light. He drank and washed his face with some melted snow, then swiftly prepared everything needed for yet another venture into the wild. A long straw cape and a rounded hat to protect him from unexpected snowfall. A steel knife and a short bow to protect him from unexpected predators. An amulet made of a pair of beast fangs to protect him from everything else.

Soon, he was outside.

In early spring, it was common for the morning sky to be hidden behind a heavy blanket of gray clouds. However, the mountain weather was ever-changing, and as Kutaru left his hut, the blue coast above greeted him with merry sunlight. The scent of forest freshness lingered in the air, and the solid branches of giant snow pines loomed all around, swaying slightly.

Kutaru turned east so the dawning sun would shine on his back and headed toward the entrance gate, where the nearby river of Aenu took a sharp curve.

The morning breeze blew over his weather-burned face, stroked his downturned eyebrows, skirted his wide nose. His pace was nimble, silent, more like that of a forest beast than that of a human being. Once again, Kutaru caught himself in the thought that it might be just nice to drop on all fours to move even lighter. Similar thoughts bothered him more as of late, but he remained deaf to them.

No sooner than Kutaru approached the edge of the hamlet, two arguing voices reached his ears. He lifted his head, curious about the cause of such a heated conversation so early in the morning.

What he saw was Okiwa-ku and Ako standing by the entrance gate, a wooden beam over two buried pillars, and fiercely arguing about some matter. Their gestures were sharp, their words were even sharper. Both of them instantly stood still and silent when they noticed Kutaru striding in their direction.

What’s this all about…?

He was determined to inquire about the quarrel, but noticing the shabby longbow in Ako’s hand, decided to postpone his questioning. 

As he drew closer, he was able to make out their faces more clearly. They were tired and pale, heavily indicating that their heated argument was not spontaneous but had rather started the previous day and lasted for a whole night.

After the brief greetings, all three of them moved to join the rest of the group. The remaining two members of their party were standing beneath the tree, not far from the muddy path meandering into the hamlet. They seemed to have just finished loading the horse.

"Name's Yahi," one of the two youngsters said with a high-pitched voice, his cocky grin surrounded by a strong scent of decay from his brown, broken teeth.

Accidentally brushing a bow tucked behind his shoulder, the exact twin to one he saw in Ako’s hand, Yahi waved at his partner. "There is Twitching Tosoru, all hurt n’ twitchin'. He’s one of us good lads…"

Tosoru looked at Kutaru fearfully, driving his scarred heavily with pox holes face to the ground, both of his eyes winking in a frenzy.

Kutaru felt disgust towards both of them. They reminded him of Ako and, without a doubt, were a fit match for him. And even if they had no facial resemblance to the bearded man, Kutaru would not be surprised if all three were of some distant kinship.

And what in the abyss Okiwa-ku do with three of them…?

But the next instant, a magnificent horse captured all of Kutaru’s attention and made him forget his doubts. Introduced as Geki, he was a mature and bulky stallion, and, as far as Kutaru could tell, by no means was bread in the cold plains of Raikin—rather somewhere far away. His coat was a lustrous shade of ebony black, glistening like charcoal in bright Io’s light. His ears, always alert, constantly flicked back and forth, keenly aware of his surroundings. His intelligent expression strongly suggested he was the smartest being in their group.

Geki was loaded to capacity—thick saddlebags, fat gourds, rolls of fur, coils of rope, a quiver of arrows, half a dozen short javelins. The array of items indicated their group had been on the road for quite some time yet remained prepared for even more travel. There was even a disassembled ledge carefully mounted on the horse’s back.

Brought it all the way here…? But why?

After some pondering, Kutaru concluded that he did not mind. They were about to venture deep into the mountains of the Thousand Elders with all of its cold and cliffs and predators. And even though he was familiar with the route, he could never know just what thing might come in handy.

Remembering all of the perils of the forthcoming journey, Kutaru touched the amulet hanging from his neck with much care, sealing an unspoken contract with forces unseen. 

It was his act of silent prayer to the Mother-Bear—his plea for protection and guidance on their way to her cave where she rested eternally.

In times when Kutaru found himself alone, hungry, lost in the thick of the forest, he always managed to find some faint traces of the bear, showing him the path and leading him to safety. Or to mysteriously get off the pack of wolves that hunted him for passing days. Or to even find a felled, clawed tree with some frozen berries and dried mushrooms stashed in its hollows.

And in return, he remembered her—the Mother-Bear, the patron of these lands, the guardian of his own. And his faith in her did not fail him even once. 

For our deities have to be remembered, or else they might just disappear…and we be gone with them too.

At some point, Kutaru noticed suspicious looks of Mataro Okiwa on him. The counselor remained silent, yet the tiny beads of sweat forming on his forehead betrayed him.

Be he concerned about the journey?

Kutaru could not care less.

And just like that, five men and the horse departed from the hamlet, along the river and into the depths of the Forest of the First Hunt.

Kutaru led them through the forest that was awakening after the harsh winter. The Month of Old Dawn had just begun, and the snow had yet to melt, sheltered from bright Io’s sunlight by the thick roof of boughs and the summits of the mountain chain. Trails were scattered throughout the white in a tangled ball of yarn, indicating a sudden burst of activity after the long slumber. Animals were mating, and birds were nesting, preparing for the arrival of their young.

And, to be sure, wolves were hunting weakened and vulnerable dwellers of the woods who managed to survive the chills of winter nights.

For the whole day, the group followed Aenu-rin upstream. The river ran like a giant snake of ice and froth on a chase, separating them from the steep mountain foothills, curving between the trees. It was when thin pink clouds draped the sky that the party arrived at the ford of the river—the farthest point they could reach before ascending the Thousand Elders.

Aenu-rin was not that wide and deep as to be uncrossable at any point. The flow was fast, though, and the water was cold. Kutaru knew too many confident men who tried to overcome the current and wade where they pleased. Only to find themselves defeated by the irrepressible element.

Ignorant, impious fools.

Just as Kutaru thought, the two youngsters were indeed Ako’s underlings. Throughout their trip, the bearded man gave them orders, barking and swearing at them, his echoes so loud they blocked out the calls of winterfeathers and black tits all around them. Still, all three appeared to be on good terms with the wildness and did not have much difficulty navigating the thick of the woods. 

The same could not be said about Mataro Okiwa. By the time they reached the ford, the tiny drops of sweat on his forehead had turned into wide pools, soaking through his back and armpits, seeping into the many layers of his elaborate garments.

Mataro Okiwa be no huntsman…not even a haori, by any means…

Seeing Okiwa-ku’s exhaustion, Kutaru suggested they break camp as soon as they crossed the river. The weather did not spoil even in the slightest. There was also no reason to hurry and no need to push themselves to the limit. They proceeded just enough to call it a day.

No one objected.

They set up camp in a small glade in the forest, some distance from the noisy waters of Aenu-rin. With plenty of time before the sky would be completely engulfed in the blackness of the Stream, Kutaru expressed his desire to explore the deeper parts of the Forest of the First Hunt in search of game. He slyly omitted the fact that he was overwhelmed by his sudden company and desperately needed some time for himself.

Some time to be on his own.

Nevertheless, his intention was strongly opposed by Ako the Birdeye, who insisted that he and Yahi hunt together instead.

"The wolves’re out there for sure, searching for careless prey," Ako the Birdeye said, an unpleasant grin on his face. "I won’t be hunted and forget if something bad comes of Yahi…but you…you’re the only one who knows the way to the bear. What a shame that’d be if something had happened to you, and the rest of us are lost in this damned wilderness…"

The reasoning was valid enough, but it left a strong bitterness in Kutaru’s mind nonetheless.

In his fifth decade of life, he was far older and much more experienced than Ako. Having spent his entire life in these lands, he knew the layouts of the Forest of the First Hunt and the Thousand Elders as well as the back of his hairy hand. Living far away from the comforts of civilization, he was keenly aware of the dangers lurking in the wilderness.

Kutaru considered himself superior in any way and saw no reason to think otherwise. 

Yet now, some bearded child from the fertile plains was questioning his skills and knowledge as a huntsman. It stung him deeply.

He knew better than to start a quarrel, though, and answered Ako only with a deep silence.

Well, if it pleases him…

In the end, it was Kutaru and Mataro Okiwa who tended the camp, while Tosoru led Geki to the river to drink and be combed. His affection for the horse was obvious, and the strong bond between the young man and the black stallion was as clear as the fresh waters of the Aenu. Their connection ran so deep that the usual nervous flickers in Tosoru’s expression vanished whenever he was near Geki.

Tosoru had been silent throughout their daytime march, but now Kutaru could hear a low, almost gentle humming as Tosoru retreated to the riverside. The sound evoked a sense of lost memories that Kutaru could no longer quite recall.

Soon, the campfire was lit, the firewood stocked, the area around the flames cleared. Sleeping furs were spread out in a rough circle. All that remained was to wait for Ako and Yahi to return with whatever prey they might have caught. If they caught any at all.

The night had finally descended, and both Kutaru and Mataro Okiwa sat to rest, silently watching the tails of flame dance. No sounds, only a crackling of gnawed wood. No scent, only a charred fragrance of gray smoke. 

From time to time, Kutaru raised his gaze to look into the twilight of the forest. He was convinced he saw some shadows shifting behind the tree trunks. Still, he was well aware that those were tricks of the leaping fire and his tired mind.

Okiwa-ku, who was cleaning his swords, abruptly broke the tranquility of the moment.

"I think I should apologize. Not sure if I could—"

"We continue tomorrow," Kutaru replied even before the counselor finished. "The path be upward and into the mountains, the snow be deeper, the wind be strong among the peaks. Better be well rested."

Mataro Okiwa did not respond. Still, Kutaru regarded his tightened mouth and a firm nod as a sign of gratitude.

Resolve exceeds the capabilities, but…be it enough…? Whole different matter.

There was some other notion that lingered in Kutaru, anyway. Not to listen to the limits of Okiwa-ku’s body, but to ask of this determination that attended to him. And now, with only two of them sitting by the homely fire, no one could hinder Kutari’s inquiries this time.

"Saw Ako and his bitches…much understand why they be with you on this voyage…"

Kutaru’s tone was rigorous and straightforward, saturated with a strong desire to receive an answer.

"What can’t figure out," he continued, "be why embark on a journey by yourself. Doesn’t look you ventured far from your castle anytime before. Why now? Won’t you send three of them alone and be done? And what be with urgency?"

The counselor responded with an indifferent look. For all his manners and charisma, Mataro Okiwa was Suodo-en’s man and possessed both the authority and the power of the gion he was sworn to. Even so far away from the castle.

The sinister shadows cast by the blazing fire gave the counselor’s face an expression of discontent and anger, causing unease in Kutaru’s heart. It was too much for him to handle, and he turned away, ashamed of his hard prying.

Kutaru began to wonder if he would receive any answer at all, but then he heard a hushed voice emanating from the other side of the campfire, just where Mataro Okiwa was.

"As you may know, there is an age-old tradition in these parts of Naikirin. The one preceding Aruan’s Conquests themselves…"

Whose conquests?

Kutaru had never heard of one before.

 "For an heir to claim the gion as his own," Okiwa-ku continued, "he has to honor a deity. Be it the celestial Ancient Ancestor or one of the many Divine Ones prowling the sacred lands or even the Saint patronizing the Ashio Ministry…it matters not. The majority merely visit the graves of their forefathers or go on a pilgrimage to some monastery close at hand. Yet the tradition is blessed and observed loyally by them all."

Kutaru listened silently, afraid to scare away the counselor and his revelation. All he did was nod occasionally, wishing for Mataro Okiwa to continue above anything else.

"For generations, heirs of the Suodo Gion honored bears. Even the crest of the gion represents their deep devotion to this hallowed animal," Okitowa-ku said as he took that piece of stone he had shown before. Only this time, he handled it for Kutaru to watch.

He accepted it carefully, a gray granite with a pink gemstone, and dragged himself closer to the fire to have a better look. Now Kutaru could see that it was a seal—a sacred regalia of the head of a gion. The one they used to mark papers with the writings on them. Or so he heard.

As Kutaru observed the seal, the carvings on the flat side, which he dismissed as nothing more than tortuous ornaments, now made sense. Those were contours of a clawed bear palm grasping a plum blossom. The ever-shifting tongues of flame from the campfire filled the grooves of the seal with dancing shades, animating the beast’s palm and making the petals sway as if affected by some unseen breeze.

The hand of the Mother-Bear.

He gazed at it for a while, perplexed by the illusion, unable to tear his gaze off it. And only after a long while did he return the seal to the counselor.

Mataro Okiwa went on.

"The Suodo Gion’s stories of veneration are preserved in scrolls and passed through generations, from father to son. Recent acts are nothing more than shrine prayers or temple rites or brief trips to the long-abandoned dens of Awai-mon. But older scrolls are full of tales of noble heirs living among the bears for long months. They did so to acquire the bear’s blessing and protection that would guide them to rule faithfully and just…"

Kutaru instantly discarded Okiwa-ku’s claims as nothing more than some nonsense of boastful nobles.

Men? Living among bears? Their dignity shall not be polluted by mere mortals…

"These talks have nothing to do with the journey," he said instead.

"Yes, all of these are just the legends of the past…and the concerns of today are what matter the most…"

Kutaru gulped in anticipation.

"Lady Saku, Noshida Suodo’s wife, was the daughter of one of the Hoyotsu Brothers. She was a just woman, born and raised in the warm plains of Hokudo. If so, she was never adapted to the chills of the East. She died in childbirth, producing her only child, as sickly and feeble as herself. Young Masu did survive, though, and became a fair maiden and a devoted follower of Ashio brought to Daori-sui with her mother.

"Yet ever since she had her blood broken and her moon cycles began, warmth, both of body and soul, started to leave her. Poor appetite and sudden faints became the norm, and soon, every member of the household knew about the ailment of the pitiful child."

Only now had Kutaru realized that Mataro Okiwa—the counselor to the head of the Suodo Gion—was talking to him with desperation. He was broken, hopeless. Kutaru lifted his head and saw that the man before him was on the verge of crying.

Be she that bad…?

"The whole court was gossiping that the spirit of the bear had left the Suodo Gion, and Young Masu should depart on pilgrimage as soon as possible. Yet her noble father was deaf to their whispers, for his devotion to the bear was altered by the faith of his dying daughter. He claimed that the deity was the problem, not the solution, and even went as far as to question the abilities of the Divine One. If so, he brought old scholars from the Academy of Kintoku and holy monks from the Mioakugawa Monastery. Even doctors from Aetheran had managed to make their way so deep into Raikin-rei."

It was the first time Kutaru heard about any of those but chose not to mention it.

"Be they successful?" he asked instead.

"While all of them visited Daori-sui in an attempt to cure the poor girl of her disease, all of their strives were to no avail, as you might have guessed. Young Masu’s chill never retreated. And yet, the more of those failed strangers left the gion’s castle, the more Suodo-en paid attention to the natives of his own domain…"

Mataro Okiwa took a brief pause. Kutaru did not hurry him.

"Not only is Young Masu the only direct heir of the Suodo Gion, but she is also the only memory left of Lady Saku, of whom the court and commoners alike were deeply fond. And eventually, Noshido Suodo sent me, Mataro Okiwa, the anointed to his daughter, on this pilgrimage to make offerings in her state. By the time it was decided to pay solemn honors to the bear, Young Masu could barely leave her bed on her own so cold she was…

"And now, all I can hope for is for the Divine One to take the pity, for there is nothing else left to do…"

All of a sudden, Kutaru felt as if he were there, in the castle. He saw the richly decorated rooms and halls of the Suodo Gion’s seat of power, as dark and abandoned as they were. He met no one there. Still, he could hear the heavy sighs of the gion, the hushed weeps of the household, the unanswered prayers coming from his own mouth.

He also felt that chill. An endless freeze, colder than the fiercest of the ice storms of the Thousand Elders, that crawled into his very soul, making his teeth chatter madly and his body cramp violently. The same chill that slowly claimed the body of Young Masu, depriving her of the most precious things she would ever have—time, vigor, hope.

…be the spirit of the Mother-Bear with us and embrace us and warm us with the divine fur of hers…

Kutaru awoke from his vision, drew himself closer to the fire, and, for some moments, just watched the embers melt.

The story did shed some light on Mataro Okiwa and his party. As Kutaru suspected, four of them came so far into the mountains of the Thousand Elders to seek the blessing of the divinity. The blessing of the Mother-Bear herself. And Okiwa-ku, no matter how unprepared and old he was, had to embark on this journey by himself. No one else, but only he, as the anointed to Young Masu, could ask the Divine One for a cure on behalf of the dying child.

If only Suodo-en had more faith in his patron and guardian, Kutaru reflected, all these sufferings could be avoided. For even if the Mother-Bear meant to sleep for eternity, she still watched all of them closely, older and wiser than any divinity. She has protected Naikirin since time immemorial and would gladly continue to do so…

…if treated with due honor and respect.

Their mission was valiant, and Kutaru was sure that the Mother-Bear would not refuse them. He became deeply concerned about the outcome of their journey. He wished to commit to Mataro Okiwa’s quest and fulfill his duty before the Suodo Gion and its heir.

And even more than that, to prove the almighty power of his chosen deity.

Just one last thing.

"What about Ako? And his bitches? Don’t look like gion’s servants to me…"

Okiwa-ku put aside both of his swords and took a deep breath.

"Because they are not—"

A branch snapped in the twilight, pulling Kutaru’s gaze toward the sound. Before he could react, a gasp escaped his lips, his heart thundering in his chest.

Tosoru sat beside him, silent and still. His wide, twitching eyes caught the firelight. He must have finished with Geki, hobbled the horse, and slipped in quietly, joining the two of them near the campfire. Kutaru had noticed none of it.

Tosoru smiled, showing two rows of crooked teeth. It was meant to be sincere, but the shadows between his teeth, the pox scars dotting his face and the constant twitching turned the grin into something unnervingly grotesque.

The next second, Ako and Yahi emerged from the woods covered in snow and ice, bows in their hands. Two dead rabbits were hanging from the bearded man’s shoulders.

"We back," Yahi announced and, without any ado, lunged toward the fire to warm his hands. Ako stood as he was.

He cast an ominous glance at each person gathered by the fire, one by one. Kutaru was the last to meet his gaze. Ako’s eyes lingered on him, his brows furrowed in silent scrutiny.

"You told him…?" he hissed.

At first, Kutaru was confused but soon realized that this phrase, which sounded more like a statement than a question, was intended for Okiwa-ku.

"But of course, I told him," the counselor replied dismissively.

"And why would you do that? I warned you not to."

"You? Warned me? Do not get ahead of yourself…"

Mataro Okiwa was about to erupt but winded down rather fast.

"I told him because he asked me. What was I supposed to say to him?"

"Say bloody nothing!" Ako screamed. "Think about what we are supposed to do now! What if he tells someone? What if the gossip reaches the Kasuga Gion? Did you think of that?"

The counselor closed his eyes. A fat blue vein was pulsing on his forehead. Even now he managed to keep his head cool.

"And who do you think I am? Some blockhead with the wind in his head? Of course, I did not tell him everything. But it would not hurt if we were a little bit more sincere. Besides, look around—where do you think we are? Who is he going to talk to in the middle of this wilderness?"

Kutaru’s eyes darted between the two men. He did not have even the slightest idea just what they were talking about.

"Right…to no one indeed," Ako concluded, dropping two rabbits on the snow and slowly heading toward Kutaru.

Kutaru was about to rise from his seat when a voice, more of the bellow of some beast, reached his ears.

"Kutaru, remain as you are," Okiwa-ku said. "Ako will not harm you."

The counselor's roar sounded entirely different from what Kutaru had heard before. If he had not known it was Mataro Okiwa himself, he would never have guessed.

Ako the Birdeye froze the second he heard Okiwa-ku’s order. Still, he came close enough for him to stare at Kutaru.

Kutaru tried to look intimidating, but his eyes began to water as he struggled to keep them wide open and in one place. Ako did not blink even once. 

They looked at each other for some time, but then Ako turned away and obediently returned to pick up the rabbit carcasses.

Be he a madman…?

Shortly after, Ako revealed that he had also managed to gather some young sprouts of mountain fern. The only convenient way to cook them was to boil them, so they decided to make a stew. Kutaru offered some withered carrots and a yellowed white radish from his supplies, while Okiwa-ku produced a small lump of pressed stock seasonings. He was also permitted to open one of the fat gourds with spirit vinegar in it. They diluted it with melted snow to make hanka.

The drink was awful. Bitter, harsh, dry. Still, the whole purpose of liquor was not to taste good but rather to warm the body and keep the chill away. And, above all else, to untie the wary tongues.

Hanka coped with all of that just flawlessly.

The magic of liquor.

With the herbs and spices added to the pot right away, the stew became rich even without hours of simmering. In no time, all five of them were mauling on their bowls, carefully sucking on the sharp rabbit bones. Throughout his meal, Kutaru could not help but silently reflect on Ako's deep knowledge of the forest, the dwellers it sheltered and the hidden treasures it possessed. If one knew where to search.

But even more than that, on Ako the Birdeye’s identity and his true purpose in Okiwa-ku’s quest.

Be he haori…? Doesn’t look like one. Not without the swords…

Done with the food, the group moved on to a discussion of tomorrow’s course. They still had a long way before them. Kutaru informed them that they would be passing an abandoned village by the small lake, and if they were able to reach it by midday, there would be no trouble getting to the cave around nightfall. Otherwise, they would have to stay there for another night.

Mataro Okiwa was firm that there would be no need for it.

The other thing that worried Kutaru was the need to cross a narrow bridge hanging over the gorge of Aenu-rin, right after the village. The concern was whether Geki would be able to handle it, for the bridge would be swaying badly if the wind was strong. And again, Mataro Okiwa reassured him that it would not be a problem either—the black stallion was smart and used to hardships.

With their route fixed, the group was free to spend the rest of the night in idle chat, sitting around the fire, passing the gourd with hanka among each other. 

Ako spoke out first.

"You’ve mentioned some abandoned village waiting for us," he said, jerking his shaggy head toward Kutaru. "Tell us more. What’s the place anyway?"

It was after Ako’s question that the rest of their party turned to watch Kutaru, inviting him to tell the secrets of the deserted village in the middle of the Forest of the First Hunt.

Kutaru made a deep, hungry swing before answering. Hanka burned his throat as though he swallowed the white-hot ember.

"No one knows for sure," he said, passing the gourd to Yahi. "The mountain men living higher in the mountains descended to the valleys and lowlands to hibernate. The hamlet be one of the places they spent the winter. One day, just stopped returning to it, and the village be deserted ever since."

The weary faces around the fire were slightly disappointed. If only for a second.

"But there be a fable, amusingly, of bears," Kutaru continued, playing in his new role as a storyteller. "The tale of two brothers of the Thousand Elders."

The night was quiet as dead. The shadows danced against the black wall of the forest. The air smelled of warmth and meat and tales untold.

All eyes were on Kutaru. And he began to recite the legend of old—the one he had heard so many times from the elders of his hamlet. Word for word.

"On the very first day of one winter, a mountain tribe descended from the Thousand Elders to occupy the village near the bridge, as they usually did when the chill emerged. They were astonished to find two baby boys there, wrapped in fur.

"The folk took care of the brothers and brought them up as their own children. But those boys were no mere humans, for they grew faster than the sun was able to rise. And by the time the moon made a full trip around, they were big and strong, towering over any other human."

None of the listeners uttered even a single sound.

"Two brothers quickly earned the respect of the whole tribe. They were selfless. Their presence inspired. Their deeds resonated with others. All the members of the tribe followed their advice, asked for their help, sought their company. And even the elders were glad to have the brothers, for men and women alike forgot about fights and quarrels amongst themselves.

"Soon, the rumor of them being sons of the Mother-Bear spread through the village like wildfire. And by the time shattered Hera made her second trip around, they were revered as divinities in human flesh by every other person in the village."

Even the campfire grew still, its tongues of flame erected as if trying to reach the blackness of the sky.

"Both of the brothers denied their sanctity. They insisted that they were just the same humans as any other member of the tribe.

"At first, people rejoiced with their words, for the true divine would never boast of their supremacy. But the more the two brothers rejected any chant or prayer in their name, the more perplexed the folk became. Soon, everyone was confused about how to treat them, and the elders held a council to decide on this matter.

"When they finished, they declared that there was no doubt in the holiness of the two true sons of the Mother-Bear. Yet they also said that the brother’s denial of their sanctity was the first sign of losing one. It was the duty of people to ensure that divine beings, which they were, wouldn’t become mere mortals like themselves. Succumbing to earthly flesh was a true death for a hallowed soul. And as broken Hera was finishing her third turn around, the folk seized the two brothers, intending to relieve them from their human shell."

As Kutaru went on, he clutched the amulet on his neck more and more tightly. He did not notice when he started to do so. It did not matter much, anyway.

"On the very last day of that winter, the whole village gathered at the gorge near the bridge. The elders brought two brothers to its middle. The crowd was hesitant, but the elders were firm.

"The older brother came first. With tears running down their creased faces and chants coming from their toothless mouths, the elders slit his throat and threw his dead body into the gorge beneath. All of the eyes slowly followed the son of the Mother-Bear falling down until he disappeared in the silky mists of the chasm.

"But then, a sudden fit of white rage hit the younger brother. He tore the bonds tying his enormous body, killed some with his bare hands and threw others from the bridge before retreating to the forest on the other side of the gorge. There was no chase. The gathered folk knew too well that it was the Mother-Bear who claimed him back. No one had ever seen him again, and no one dared to search for him. Still, some folk whisper they could hear him roar when the moon is at her highest, bereaving even the toughest men of their sleep…"

There was a faint howl of an owl coming from the dark woods, and one of the pines swayed from the wind, sending the snow from its boughs to the ground.

Kutaru was done with the story, but everyone just remained as they were—motionless, occasionally fidgeting in their seats. The legend was indeed dark, and no matter how many times Kutaru had heard it, he became disturbed in mind and body.

Blasphemy of some mountain ignorants.

In the blink of an eye, Ako got back on his feet. He slowly walked back and forth in front of the campfire, slightly wiggling from side to side as if the land under him were moving voluntarily. Kutaru found it obvious that Ako was drunk, for the bearded man embraced the gourd more often and for a much longer time than others. His face struck through with a nasty smile.

"Tragic story…tragic indeed," he said, "which reminds me of some other thing…"

Without breaking his stride, he shifted his gaze toward Mataro Okiwa.

"You told a story to our huntsman. He just told us one of his," Ako the Birdeye said, pointing at Kutaru without taking his eyes off the counselor. "It’s my turn now."

Mataro Okiwa was about to reply, but Ako defiantly cleared his throat, cutting the counselor off, and started, his every word painted in mockery.

"There once was a gamekeeper in the service of one noble gion. He was smart and skilled, the most terrific man to touch a bow in the entire realm of his ruler. And with him, the whole castle had nothing but the best game on their tables that could be found in his vast forests. 

"But then the gamekeeper was jealously accused of poaching by some feeble rascals. Nothing serious to assure you, just some boars on the side. Yet without considering any of his acts or merits, he was taken by the guard and placed in custody…"

"Your misdeed has been proven," Okiwa-ku said, not so much as raising an eyebrow.

"And yet you did nothing," Ako yelled back, "absolutely nothing to help me, to get me out! You just let me rot in there! Until recently, until I was needed for you and your damned gion and your damned girl!"

Kutaru could not comprehend what he was hearing. He had nothing to do with the woes of two men he knew for less than a day. More than anything, he wished to get rid of both of them, to appear as far away from here as possible.

The Mother-Bear, hear me…take me away…

He took his eyes away from Ako and watched Mataro Okiwa instead. Something inside the counselor seemed to have snapped. He stood up, grabbed one of his swords, and looked at Ako the Birdeye from the bottom up.

"I pledged to Suodo-en for you!" Mataro Okiwa roared in that other voice he possessed. "I told him that only you were able to lead me into the mountains. I told him all of it…and he agreed. He agreed to give you another chance. He even let you take these two bastards of yours, or whoever they might be!"

"Stop this crap. This is all just one of your lies, just one of those you told me before when you decided to leave…"

Mataro Okiwa rolled his eyes.

"Oh, merciful Inuore, do not start—"

"But why?" Ako interrupted. "Why won’t you just admit that you threw me away like some useless thing? We grew together. We were like brothers…no, we were brothers! And, most importantly, we were free. Yet you choose the fancy life of the gion’s hand rat over your own family. What was it that you lacked so desperately that you now have? Wealth? Power? Tell me!"

Ako ceased his aimless walk and now stood in one place. He continued to sway nevertheless, hungrily gasping for breath as though all the air in the world were not enough to sate him.

Mataro Okiwa, on the other hand, watched his opponent with a face resembling a hard stone with a cold fury graved all over it. Not a single muscle in his body flexed. 

"In times like this, I really wish I did not say a word to Suodo-en of your worthless hide, brother."

"We will bloody see about that, brother…" Ako answered right away and retreated to the back of the camp, marking the end of the clash.

The spirit of the night was ruined—splintered into tiny pieces just like shattered Hera high above. Soon, others followed Ako’s lead and settled down to rest. All except for Kutaru, for he had the first watch.

He tossed some firewood onto the fading embers and distanced himself from the campfire, wary of being lulled to sleep by its warmth. The gusty winds appeared out of nowhere, sweeping through the night. Before long, the moon and stars vanished, swallowed by the clouds the winds had dragged in. The thought of tomorrow’s snowfall made Kutaru shudder.

And yet, there was a grain of bliss within him. Kutaru was finally alone. He was free from the world around him. The solitude tasted sweet, intoxicating him more than any hanka ever could.

He tried to reflect on Mataro Okiwa’s story, on Ako the Birdeye being a poacher and the eerie dynamics within the party. But the more he tried to untangle his thoughts, the more his mind became a chaotic swirl of baffling, if not meaningless, words that Okiwa-ku had showered him with.

Won’t do any good right now…leave the thoughts for tomorrow, by any means…

Instead, his mind drifted to the fragments of some narrative he happened to hear from the townfolk long ago. Was it something about the true reason behind the sun rising and settling down in one specific spot in the far west? Or was it some doomed prophecy about the Storm of His Wrath…consuming them? The whole Naikirin? Even the Thousand Elders, as high and inaccessible as they were?

Kutaru could not recall much of that talk. Even so, he found the gossip of the dimwitted townfolk ridiculous. Even from the tallest of mountains, he never saw any notion of any storm large enough to support those claims.

Bright Io descends from His Tower. Be that so obscure? And the Storm of His Wrath…there be no storm. Abyss take all storms.

Exhausted, Kutaru abandoned any thoughts and cleared his head. He decided to spend the remainder of his watch looking through the beating black between the trees, imagining himself nosing among the roots on all fours, avoiding the low branches of the pines…

When the last firewood in the campfire became glowing embers, Kutaru woke up Twitching Tosoru. The next thing he remembered was falling into an embrace of long-anticipated sleep before his tired body even touched the ground.

Having to spend more nights under the open sky than under a dry roof, Kutaru never fell asleep completely—rather dozed off for a couple of hours to rest his body and mind. And even as he did so, he was on constant alarm, ready to jump up at any moment.

However, this night was different, even unusual. Kutaru saw dreams. Many dreams. They were too weird to make any sense and too short to remember, seamlessly changing each other. Yet, there happened to be one thing that was common to them all. 

A flickering memory of a dim sheen coming from the eternal blackness.

Kutaru woke up to the morning creak of the cuckoo, his whole body covered in cold sweat. The first thing he saw was a thick blanket of gray clouds hovering high. A freezing numbness captured his legs and arms. He slightly shifted his head, only to find out that the campfire had turned to ashes the same color as the sky above.

Perhaps it was still too early to wake up, but he decided to do so nonetheless. Kutaru was a huntsman—proud and self-respecting. It was in his blood not to give in to the tempting comfort of sweet sleep.

He raised his upper body and scanned the camp. Not far away, Mataro Okiwa was sleeping carelessly, his relaxed face resembling that of an inconceivably old child, unaware of the hazards of the surrounding forest. Kutaru looked around in search of other members of the party. Faintly remembering that it was Ako who had the last watch, he anticipated spotting his bushy beard somewhere around. Still, Ako was nowhere to be seen. Both Yahi and Tosoru also were missing.

Weird, where they be so early…?

As Kutaru was about to leave the furs, he heard some hollow noises coming from the woods. And those noises were steadily becoming louder and louder after each of his unsteady breaths. Sounds of snapping branches, cracking snow, breaking ice…

Hushed voices. 

Someone was heading toward their camp.

A wave of dread crawled down Kutaru’s spine. But instead of rising, he laid down and buried himself deep into the furs. He froze, pretending to still be asleep. His mind kept saying that there was not a single reason for him to behave like this, yet his body moved on its own, indifferent to the voice of reason.

The sound with which the strangers emerged onto the glade was as clear to Kutaru as the pounding of his racing heart. He distinguished that there were three of them. After a brief pause, two of the intruders tiptoed toward the extinct campfire. The third one remained as he was. At some point, he heard the two halt. A rustling sound emerged afterward. A bead of sweat flowed down Kutaru’s nose, tickling his skin.

He did not dare to move.

Be they the ghosts of the woods…?

Beside himself with fear, Kutaru missed the moment the third figure moved. By the time he became aware, the stranger was already standing right over him. Kutaru knew it, for every fiber of his being screamed of an unseen danger looming just above.

Kutaru could not handle himself anymore. The notion was to reach for the knife under his cape and take the intruder by surprise. But just before he was able to put his plan into practice, he felt a strong hand on his shoulder.

He turned to watch.

"You awake?" Ako the Birdeye said without even looking at Kutaru but rather gazing somewhere past him. His eyes were unfocused, his face was swelling from yesterday’s liquor, his voice, usually full of scorn and disdain, had steel determination woven into it.

"The sun is up. We depart soon. Wake up others. I will load the horse."

And with those last words leaving his mouth, Ako patted Kutaru on the shoulder and left the fireside even quieter than when he came.

All Kutaru did was watch Ako retreat with an ugly smile. It did not leave him for some time.

They rolled up the camp and began their ascent into the Thousand Elders. The atmosphere in the group was heavy and tangling. No one talked, much to Kutaru’s satisfaction.

It did not take long for a light snowfall to appear, adding to the white carpet on the ground, making it even thicker. It was as if the clouds were giant blocks of ice being shaved, their flakes falling gently on the world below.

By midday, five men and one horse entered the abandoned village. It was nearly twice the size of Kutaru’s hamlet, with a couple dozen small houses clustered near the frozen lake. The half-razed huts had been forgotten by all, their roofs long collapsed, leaving behind only the skeletons of what once was.

Nothing changed…all be the same.

An overwhelming sense of affection for the place stirred deep within Kutaru. In days before, this had been a settlement of mountain men—people vastly different from the children of the fertile plains of Naikirin. A haven for those who had struggled to survive in the harsh wilderness. For them, the existence of a place where they could weather the winter’s chill had been a crucial line between life and death.

Those men were long gone. Lost to the relentless passage of time, consumed by the Stream. Yet the wilderness they had fought so desperately against remained unchanged. And now, this same wilderness was slowly but steadily reclaiming what had once belonged to it.

Young trees grew through the buildings, their roots entangling the rotten timber of their forefathers. Winterfeathers nestled atop still-standing roof pillars, while the rough stone bases were cratered with the dens of blind snow ferrets. And layers upon layers of tiny ice crystals gleamed above it all.

Kutaru felt it deeply. This was his place. The world he belonged to.

"A lake," Yahi bleated, snapping Kutaru out of his thoughts. "A rest will do, maybe catch a fish or two…"

Kutaru could not choose if Yahi was just japing around or if he was even more ignorant than he looked.

Have to reach the cave by nightfall.

Others ignored Yahi all the same and did not bother even to mock him. And without wasting any time, the party passed through the village, paying their silent respects to this expired place.

In no time, they reached the hanging bridge just past the village. Withered logs were driven into the ground on each side of the deep chasm. Wooden planks with many holes in them hung over the river of Aenu from faded ropes. The bridge was slightly swaying to the wind currents, sending the echoes of subtle creeks throughout the gorge.

The construction was old. Perhaps even older than the village. Yet it appeared to be in much better condition than the ruins they had just passed. The bridge looked firm and durable, as everlasting as the snow-capped peaks of the Thousand Elders towering around. 

This overpass has tirelessly connected the two mountainsides separated by Aenu-rin since the dawn of ages, and there was not a single reason for Kutaru to believe it would fail this time.

Kutaru approached the cliff's edge and peered downward. The only thing he saw was the silky fog that covered the bottom of the gorge, making the river barely distinguishable. It smelled of freshness. The mist was like a sea of white wool, and he almost believed he would land on the soft fabric if he had jumped into it.

As expected, Kutaru was the first to cross the bridge. He had done it countless times before, and it took him no effort to do so again. He skillfully skirted the broken sites while simultaneously giving the others a rough idea of how to behave themselves.

Fear be with a hundred eyes.

Next, Twitching Tosoru was to lead Geki to the other side. To get the horse accustomed to the light breeze on its coat and the bracing scent of the mist, Tosoru first brought Geki to the edge of the cliff and let him test the planks of the bridge. Despite being so close to the edge, the black stallion did not kick or snort but remained as serene as a mountain lake. The thick fog was a significant reason for such behavior—no matter how hard Geki looked, he could not see anything behind it.

And so they advanced, slowly at first. But both Tosoru and Geki plucked up their courage with every step and soon quickened their pace. However, by the time they reached the middle of the bridge, the wooden structure was swaying madly under the considerable weight of the wiry youngster and the loaded horse.

That was when Geki lost it. Going insane, the black stallion started to shake his head and neigh fiercely, trying to rear. It was not an option, though, for the backward-moving horse was destined to put a hoof through one of the gaps in the planks. And in the next instant, fall to his death.

Kutaru wanted to believe that they would make it, but he did not. He flexed his fists, preparing for the worth.

Tosoru closed his eyes in a bout of dread. Still, he held the reins firmly and forced the black stallion to continue the cross, at times almost dragging the frenzied horse behind himself. And eventually, both he and Geki emerged on the opposite side of the chasm—both terrified, both gasping heavily.

Both safe.

Yet even as he crossed the bridge, Geki did not hurry to calm down. Tosoru was too tired to handle the black stallion alone anymore. Kutaru was fast to help him. Combining their efforts, they managed to reassure the scared horse, drag him some distance away from the cliff, and hobble to the nearest tree.

Leaving Twitching Tosoru to take further care of the horse, Kutaru returned to the bridge to check on others. The picture that unfolded before him was almost surreal. He was not prepared to see any of this.

Mataro Okiwa had entered the bridge and stood near the supporting logs. He was right between Ako the Birdeye, who already was in the middle of the overpass, and Yahi, who had yet to follow. And there, Okiwa-ku and Ako were arguing yet again.

It was impossible to distinguish a single word from their dispute, let alone the whole talk. They did not shout at each other as they did the previous night—rather negotiated in a hush, indistinguishable tones.

But it was not their argument that made Kutaru forget to breathe.

It was a bow aimed by Yahi right into Mataro Okiwa’s back.

A lump was coming up Kutaru’s throat. He wanted to scream at them and make them explain the whole meaning of this folly. But no sooner than his foot took the first step, he felt something awfully sharp at his throat as though a deer antler were about to penetrate him. A slight pain ran through him. A bead of red blood dropped on the amulet hanging from his neck.

Kutaru instantly forgot about the argument on the bridge and Okiwa-ku’s quest and the whole Naikirin with it. Instead, he carefully—very carefully—turned his head.

It was Twitching Tosoru who pressed a knife to his throat. His hand was trembling feverishly. He awkwardly twitched his head twice. Still, the determination written on his face was unmistakable. Kutaru knew instantly that he would not hesitate.

Tosoru’s eyes, filled with sincere regret, pleaded with Kutaru not to provoke him. The fear in those eyes was palpable—a fear of the punishment that would follow if he failed to do what was required.

Kutaru froze, his body seeming to turn into a slab of ice. He turned away and silently watched the scene unfold before him.

Gradually, his mind went blank. Everything around him seemed to swim, and the hypnotic rustle of pine branches drowned out the surrounding silence…

Kutaru came to his senses only when Ako gave him a brutal slap on the face. He did not respond but instead dreamily watched over the three anxious faces staring at him.

There, at the fringe of the woods, Ako stood between Yahi and Twitching Tosoru. Both of the youngsters seemed to be deeply concerned about some grave matter. Ako’s eyes, though, were two holes the color of the abyss. His face was as pale as the forest snow. His clothes were all stained with fresh blood.

"Oi, huntsman! Kutaru! Can you hear me?"

Kutaru blinked for some moments. He then nodded slowly.

…a tall man drawing a knife from a sheath on his hip…

"Let me make it clear. This imbecile was supposed to make sure you didn’t see a thing. And yet you gazed at us the whole bloody time. This was never your concern, but now you’re deep into it. You understand?"

Kutaru nodded.

…a short man approaching with his hands wide open…

"Now listen closely. It doesn’t change anything, and you don’t have to push yourself. We came here for a reason. To get to the cave, to see the bear. You remember?"

Kutaru nodded.

…a tall man slashing widely, a fountain of red blood pulsing in all directions…

"We still have a duty to do. Lead us to the cave. Lead us, and I promise you’ll forget our names sooner than the bloody moon makes another turn. You will lead the way, won’t you?"

There was a pause.

"Be there really a choice for me?" Kutaru finally said in a shaking, subtle whisper.

Ako’s dry lips twisted into a vile smile. He wiped the blade he had been holding all this time on his clothes and sheathed it.

"Good," he said, still grinning. "Even I couldn’t say better."

As always, there was a touch of irony in his words. Kutaru did not feel the need to answer.

"Let’s not waste any more time, then," Ako said more seriously and turned to watch Yahi and Tosoru. "We had already spent too much of it on this bloody bridge. Take a short break, catch a breath, and we shall move on."

Nodding timidly, both Yahi and Tosoru hurried away, spreading out like some scared birds. Ako came back to the edge of the cliff in calm, measured steps and glanced down into the thick fog of the gorge.

Kutaru thought he saw a pinkish glimpse emerging from Ako’s bloodstained hands. It disappeared in the mists the next moment.

Kutaru was not concerned about Ako the Birdeye whatsoever. He was not even sure he understood correctly any of what he had been told. He was in a divine-touched state and felt that he might be losing himself.

The visions were flowing within him as if they were the currents of some raging river. They dispersed him in their majesty.

And their impiety.

Kutaru was there. He saw it. All of it. He saw the bridge, its mighty logs driven into the ground, and its wholesome wooden planks hanging from the massive ropes. He saw people gathered on the other side of the gorge. He saw old men standing in the middle of the wooden bridge with their lips working madly. He saw a human of sheer size standing to the elders’ right. And, lastly, he saw but an empty space to the elders’ left.

People were many, yet all of them were fixed on one thing and one thing only.

The body falling from the bridge into the silky mist of a chasm.

Ako’s voice came from somewhere else—some other dimension, far away from where Kutaru was.

"I asked you kindly," Ako said cautiously. "Don’t make me ask twice."

Kutaru’s eyes focused at last. He hurried to join three men and one horse waiting for his lead through the Forest of the First Hunt. Silently, the group continued their voyage.

But just before they departed, Kutaru could swear he saw a broad shadow shifting behind the nearby trees and disappearing shortly after.

Just as the winds brought gray clouds over the mountain forest, they swept them away, ceasing the snowfall and significantly improving the weather. The sun was shining yet again but had already passed its zenith and was slowly settling back from where it emerged. The sky had changed its color twice—from cerulean blue to warm pink and then to deeper shades of purple.

Tree shadows elongated as the dusk came closer. It prevented the snow from sparkling, for only a few of the sunrays were able to find their way in between the thick trunks and tangled boughs of the surrounding pines.

Kutaru was the first to notice that the Forest of the First Hunt went still. The many voices of winterfeathers and black tits that had accompanied them could not be heard anymore. He quickly became overwhelmed by this heavy silence—this death-like quietness that now rang in his ears, suppressing both the rustle of his clothes and the crunching of snow under his feet.

Faintly, some notion also began to build itself within him, weaving its roots around him with each step on the way. It did not take too long to realize.

Eyes. Eyes on me. Eyes everywhere.

Kutaru became aware that something was after them. He did not hurry to tell others of his hunch, though. He could not truly grasp it himself, let alone describe it to others. All he cared about was clutching his amulet and keeping it safe, not letting it slip away.

For losing it would mean the end of it all.

Before long, the presence of some unknown creature stalking behind the trunks became obvious to everyone. Even Geki, who blenched to even the slightest sway of the branches, seemed to be able to sense some mysterious gaze watching them.

The group picked up the pace, hoping to reach the cave before the twilight break.

…for the Mother-Bear would shield…

It was not the first time Kutaru had been chased in the Forest of the First Hunt. Far from that. Yet it was the first time he felt such an unnatural heaviness as if the short bow and sacks on his shoulder were made of stone. A tenacious unease was now gnawing at him, carving some deep, sullen hollow in his mind. But the worst of it all was that pride huntsman Kutaru had no idea who—or what—was after them.

It could not be a pack of wolves, for even as they hunted at dusk and dawn, they would have already revealed themselves by now with their echoing howls. This also could not have been a bear—they were rarely interested in humans. They could come to scare away some wayward souls from their territory, but they surely would not follow them that far. And all of the bears were still sleeping, to begin with.

Any other dweller of the forest known to Kutaru would prefer to avoid them altogether. 

If it was not an animal, what was that sinister thing pursuing them?

A tiny thought abruptly crawled into his failing mind.

Be they tribesmen…?

A wave of primordial dread swept over Kutaru. All at once, he remembered all those silly talks he heard beside the warm hearth. Talks of the deepest valleys of the Thousand Elders far beyond the river of Aenu—cold, rocky lands deprived of any sunlight. Talks of hungry barbarians who would venture far and wide to raid and plunder for whatever food there was. Talks claiming that even human flesh was not a taboo for them—rather a prized haul they wished above anything else…

Kutaru was brought back to reality by the sound of a heavy thud. It was as if a snow cape of one of the pines could not stand the stillness any longer and fell on the ground to break it. The distressed cry of the horse followed, and Kutaru turned to watch.

Led by Twitching Tosoru, whose wide-open eyes were but two black dots, Geki tripped over the root hidden beneath the snow and fell, breaking his front leg. The black stallion desperately tried to get up and continue the flight, cradling its twisted limb beneath its body. He fell back down the next moment, sending a scream of agony throughout the woods.

Kutaru wondered if the horse’s neigh was caused by the tormenting pain in the broken leg or by the realization of an inevitable fate that had finally reached him.

Tosoru folded over Geki and looked around, wordlessly praying for help, tears filling the pox scars on his cheeks and becoming icicles soon after.

Kutaru did not notice just when Ako squatted near the fallen horse with a curved knife in his hand. He put his other hand on the stallion’s head and, with one swift movement, cut the horse’s throat wide open. A bright fountain of red jetted up from the scarlet cut, dousing Ako in another layer of blood.

The dying animal convulsed, flailing its hoofs, forcing both Ako and Tosoru to step back. Some moments passed, the death throes waned, and the black stallion’s body was motionless on the rapidly reddening snow.

As Tosoru’s miserable whinings reached his ears, a jolt of shock ran through Kutaru’s spine. It was not because Ako the Birdeye had killed Geki, who, by all accounts, could no longer keep up with them. Nor was it the fact that he did it without a moment’s hesitation.

What truly unsettled Kutaru was that Ako was smiling while he did it.

Treats life like it be nothing…

"Leave everything as it is," Ako ordered without shifting his gaze from the black stallion. "The scent of blood will hold it off…"

Kutaru knew at once just what he was referring to. He hoped Ako’s judgment was right about that.

"Where are we?" Ako barked at him afterward. "Are we far? How much longer?"

Kutaru hesitated.

"I-I am not sure…i-it’s hard to say…but as soon as we follow this—"

He stopped in mid-sentence, unable to produce any other word.

Surprisingly, Ako did not push him. Instead, he strengthened his grip on the knife, warm blood dripping from it. He continued to look at the bleeding carcass of the horse for some time like some wild dog utterly mesmerized by fire.

Like a madman enchanted by death.

Just before continuing on their run, Ako the Birdeye approached the dead horse and retrieved two javelins. He handled one of them to Yahi. He left all of their other belongings behind, though. As Kutaru cast a final glance at the cooling body of the black stallion, his eyes fell on the sledge that the horse had been carrying all this time.

The insight came to Kutaru in one gut punch—too heavy and too sudden for him to bear. He was shivering, thick gooseflesh dancing under the sweat-soaked garments, and all on its own, his mouth was bleating silently some nonsense he could scarcely recognize.

This all be a lie…

Kutaru recalled the story he had been told the previous night. It felt like an eternity had passed since then, even if it was just yesterday. There was nothing odd in that story, and nothing in it stood out. The purpose behind the quest of his sudden guests seemed to be as clear as the evening sky.

At least that time. 

But now, as he had crossed the misty bridge, as he had been hunted down by some unknown beast, as he saw a sledge on the dead horse’s back, as he watched a short javelin in Ako’s hand, as he glimpsed bloody bliss on Ako’s lips…

Now Kutaru could understand all those things that had passed in silence.

The bear was a sacred animal, one of the Divine Ones, revered by all the people of Naikirin. No records or tales could reveal just how long this deity had been honored—a testament to its eternal sanctity. From children to elders, everyone praised the bear in the morning light, sought its protection during the day, thanked it for its blessings before sleep. The idea of harming a bear was inconceivable, and if it were to occur, humanity would have already drowned in the divine blood spilled from their sinful hands…

Yes, from the very beginning, the three poachers led by the counselor had intended to kill her. To slay the Mother-Bear. To flay her. To strip her of her hide. To take the pelt to Daori-sui. To cover Young Masu with it. To warm the girl with the sacred furs. To bring the dying child back to life…

…paying for it with the life of the Divine One.

Yes, it was the scent of their sinister intent, stretching further and stinking stronger than any blood, that evoked the divine punishment to be after them.

Yes, it was Noshida Suodo who had ordered such a blasphemous deed—all while claiming the bear to be the patron of his gion.

Yes, the head of the Suodo Gion wanted his only heir to be back from the dead, even if the cost was his whole heritage.

Yet not even a dying child be over the Divine One.

But now, the time for retribution has come. His child would die, and he would also die. Not of the wound or illness but of the slow grief that would consume his rotten heart.

And, without any doubt, Kutaru was to be punished more than anyone else. It was he who agreed to lead the group straight to the rest of the Divine One.

And Kutaru was determined to pay for his ignorance. And the price for his betrayal would be none other but death. If not from Ako’s arrow then from the Mother-Bear—the divinity he wronged most bitterly…

Kutaru squeezed his amulet so strongly that both of the fangs broke his skin and pierced his frostbitten hand. The pain was intense, yet even that was not enough to drag him out of his nightmare.

He had enough of it. An old urge deep inside was stronger than ever, impelling him to run. To escape away from these vile men as far as he could. To hide behind the trees and dodge Ako’s precise arrow. To hope that the knowledge of the forest would lead him to safety…

And, perhaps—only perhaps—the Mother-Bear would forgive him…

If he cleansed himself before her, proved his worth, showed his just intent…

Just drop on all four and run…

"There, over there! I see it!" Yahi shouted at the top of his lungs, pointing in front of himself with the javelin, pulling Kutaru out of the sea of madness he was drowning in.

The cave of the Mother-Bear was still some distance away. Still, Kutaru immediately recognized the small glade with many fallen logs the party had walked into. The base of the steep hill abruptly rose between trees with a flat, oval hole in its middle. The hollow, half concealed by the curtain of tree branches, was dark. It was as dark as the abyss itself, absorbing the last light of the setting sun.

Tiny bells hanging over the entrance rang, if only slightly. The incensed candles before the cave had become pools of wax, and wooden plates that previously held offerings for the Mother-Bear were all but empty.

Kutaru hoped that some wave of relief would flood him upon entering this holy site, cease the dread that obscured the clarity of his vision, restore order in his shattered mind. However, there was only the cave with its eternal darkness staring at him.

An atrocious roar enveloped the glade. It was a roar of anger and rage, more like the scream of a vexed man than the cry of a forest beast. For the first time, their pursuer made his presence clear. Kutaru turned his gaze to look back at the way they had come from. There, bathed in the first touches of milky moonshine, he saw a huge furred body emerge from behind the trees, indicating the end of the hunt.

There was a flash, and Ako the Birdeye jumped to the side. He dropped his javelin but managed to push Twitching Tosoru in the chest, forcing the youngster to fall to the ground. Kutaru could not tell if it was his huntsman’s reflexes or some other animal instinct that made him do the same.

Yahi was the only one to remain standing. He clutched the shaft of the javelin with both of his hands, unable to take his eyes off the hulking body against the wall of trees. A wet ran down his legs, which was accompanied by wafts of hot steam.

The beast was right in front of Yahi, standing up on its back legs. But even with broken Hera casting her silver shine on it, Kutaru was not able to examine the creature intently, for the Stream that ruled the sky was darker than any moonlight. Kutaru’s swaying head was like a pine sapling caught in a snowstorm, preventing him from fixing his eyes on the beast even further.

Still, Kutaru saw its silhouette. The sheer size and curved shape, head and shoulders above Yahi, resembling that of a bear.

Could it be…?

He quickly discarded the possibility. He tried to convince himself that the beast’s hind legs were too long, its pelt more like unkempt tufts of hair than animal fur, its movements not lumbering but sharp and swift.

A hysterical smile emerged on Kutaru’s face. The attempt to persuade himself of such nonsense was hilarious indeed. His eyes told him the truth. All the truth he needed to know.

The creature before him was the bearling—one of the offspring of the Mother-Bear herself.

It truly was, for why would his own eyes lie to him?

The bearling growled silently as it leaned over the motionless Yahi to sniff him. The bearling produced a short roar of dissatisfaction. The bearling lifted its paw, thick as the trunk of a tree,  with sharp claws that gleamed in the moonlight. The bearling struck one mighty blow, hacking through Yahi’s clothes and flesh alike from shoulder to groin.

The next instant, Yahi was on the ground not far away from Kutaru. He was desperately trying to keep his entrails from spilling out of his gut with both hands. Dark blood spread rapidly, melting the snow beneath him.

Watching the gore flowing out of Yahi’s stomach before his very eyes, Kutaru swiftly stood up on his legs, his stomach churning violently.

The holy beast immediately lost interest in Yahi, dropped on all four and started to circle Kutaru. It moved silently, placing one foot in front of the other. The soft snow did not sag under its weight. As it walked, it constantly watched Kutaru, looking straight into his soul as if testing the bounds of his lucidity. Only now did Kutaru notice that the bearling’s eyes glowed like two dim fires in the dark.

Frozen in his boots, Kutaru knew he was next.

i be NEXT and i be dead in AGONY for my SINS and the UNHOLY void be my final REST punished by the ALMIGHTY and casted into the TERROR of the ABYSS for i WRONGED the ONE who protected and nothing be help of me…

It all happened at once.

Ako the Birdeye jumped from under the snow and ambushed the holy beast. The bloodstained knife in his hand was aimed for a neck—for one precise strike that would finish it all. He missed and tore its cheek instead, from the maw and right to the ear. 

The bearling descended into a frenzy, spraying snow from under his paws and gore from his face all around. The timid sheen in its eyes changed into a pulsing glow full of bloodlust.

Ako quickly flipped and glanced around for the javelin he had dropped. He instantly realized it was lost in the snow.

However, Yahi’s javelin was still lying nearby, just beside Kutaru. He could easily reach for it if he tried. Ako also noticed it and looked at him, if only for a while. His eyes were telling Kutaru—almost ordering—to throw him the weapon.

Kutaru hesitated for a heartbeat. Then, without a word, he turned and ran.

Dread, the first of all human emotions, took over Kutaru’s mind and body. Dread made him hide like a rat behind the nearest fallen log. Dread forbade him to look back, insisting instead on burying his face in his frozen hands. They burned him with a chill.

Dread dominated, and it told him to cling to his misery no matter what.

Kutaru was prohibited from looking, but he could still hear. And he heard everything. The swishing of the snow. The whizzing of the blade. The hard gasps of a sly man and a mad beast. Whether for mere seconds or long hours, he could not know. He did not want to know.

But, at some point, all of the noises ceased. All except for a low growl that now dominated the glade. The same hushed growl Kutaru heard when the bearling was looming over Yahi.

This monotonous, grating sound dulled the sense of dread in Kutaru’s mind. The human curiosity prevailed. He peeked from behind the fallen tree.

He saw the bearling embrace Ako the Birdeye with its massive arms against the body, its bestial muzzle near the poacher’s face. There was a short snarl, and the holy beast began to squeeze Ako so strongly as though trying to choke his very soul out of his body. Ako kicked and tossed and coiled in the bearling’s grip, trying to break free. All of his endeavors were in vain. 

Kutaru watched him as if he were a small, feeble rabbit caught in snares, unaware that his destiny was already sealed. By the higher will that the poacher was unable to comprehend.

Crushed by the divine hand.

Ako did not utter a single word. His silence did not last for long, though.

The crunch of snapping bones followed—the same that dry branches produced when thrown into the fire. Except that there were no sparks. Only the crunch of snapping bones and the unearthly scream of Ako the Birdeye.

The holy beast was still discontent. It opened its maw and began to strip the flash from Ako’s face with its massive jaws, taking revenge for the very first wound the poacher had inflicted. Blood and flesh spread everywhere, smearing those parts of the glade still free of gore. No living thing was able to yell as loud as Ako did, for only the truly dead could scream with that much agony and despair.

Soon, Ako the Birdeye was motionless, his head inclined to one side at an unnatural angle, his libs dangling from his lifeless body.

The image of a holy beast, drenched in blood and bear-hugging its perished hunter, evoked a sense of awe in Kutaru. He found an amulet on his neck and began to chant over it—anything that his failed mind was able to produce, swallowing half of the words as he did so.

At last, the bearling dropped Ako on the ground. Without stopping his prayers, Kutaru watched the bearling sway heavily from side to side, unable to steady itself. It appeared to be heavily injured and had some gruesome pieces of flesh and skin hanging from its body. Thick blood was soaking through its hairy hide.

It was hard for Kutaru to tell just from where the faint noise emerged, for it was no louder than the flap of a bird’s wing. Nevertheless, the bearling reacted without delay, swiveling its entire body toward the supposed source of the sound. Given its injuries, the holy beast’s reflexes were not even half as sharp as before. And as a result, it was late, if only for a brief while.

Twitching Tosoru materialized out of nowhere—a spirit, a ghost from the woods. Holding his knife with both of his hands, he stuck it right into the chest of the perplexed beast right at the moment of revolt. The bearling froze. Its gaze fell upon a small youngster trembling before his almighty being. And yet, Tosoru continued to hold on to the knife, sinking it deeper and deeper into the beast’s flesh. His expression made it clear he would not let go of the grip on the blade no matter what. 

And with the sound of falling timber, the giant beast collapsed right on Tosoru, burying the youngster under its enormous body.

And stillness followed. Calm yet much disturbing stillness.

It be over…it be all over now. It has to.

Nevertheless, Kutaru waited. He waited for a long time. Not out of patience or precaution but rather out of naked fear still echoing in him. His eyes got used to the dark long ago but he was still terrified of something that might be lurking in the dimmer corners of the night, something he might not even be aware of. He was not sure of anything anymore.

But nothing happened, and Kutaru found the Forest of the First Hunt returning to its normal state. Once again, the winds were brushing on the tops of trees and Kutaru’s hair. The scent of forest freshness found his nostrils filled with frozen snot. A lone howl of an owl from somewhere far away reached his still-ringing ears. 

Only when the newly formed order had established itself did Kutaru allow himself to leave the fallen log.

No sooner than Kutaru abandoned his hiding place, a strong odor of rusty iron wiped away the fragrance of forest chill. The smell was so intense it forced Kutaru to breathe with his mouth. It took some time for him to realize that it was the scent of blood. It was all around him.

As Kutaru slowly drew himself closer to the middle of the glade, the milky moonshine revealed the grim aftermath of the fight. The hallowed site before the cave of the Mother-Bear was soaked in clotted blood that looked not scarlet but rather black amid the pale snow.

Kutaru spotted the peaceful face of Yahi with the teardrops on his face already frozen and his guts on the snow already cold. He watched Ako the Birdeye spread out on the glade with his ribcage a bloody pulp and his spine broken in several places. The total opposite of Yahi's face, Ako’s mug was a bloodshed mess. Kutaru would never tell it was Ako if he did not know it beforehand. Ako was lying with his glassy eyes, staring into the Stream above as though searching for shattered Hera. She was right there for him.

Broken and alone, just like he be.

Kutaru hesitated to come too close to the holy beast, though, even if it was stretching motionlessly on its stomach. He kept his distance but hungrily gazed at the dead body nonetheless. And could not believe what he saw there.

Forgetting his previous caution, Kutaru drew himself before the dead bearling in two wide steps. He closed and opened his eyes feverishly, hoping that it was all a dream and that the thing before him would disappear soon. It did not.

Kutaru started to giggle.

The bearling—the holy beast, the sacred punishment that hunted them throughout the Forest of the First Hunt—was nothing but a human. A mere human, hefty and wild. A body covered with a mantle of thick hair. A prolonged face same as the snout of a bear. Edged fangs encrusted with blood protruding from his mouth. Muscular legs and massive hands, black of age, ending up in sharp claws.

It be him. The younger brother. It must be him…

Kutaru’s heart stopped and sank to his feet when the dead body before him shifted. A faint cough followed, coming from under the massive carcass. Kutaru did not recoil but instead collapsed on his knees, immensely tired. He realized at once who was responsible for his dismay.

Twitching Tosoru was still alive. His head was peeking out from under the bearling’s vast shoulder while the rest of his body was pinned to the ground by the holy beast. Its body looked so heavy that Kutaru would not be surprised if the youngster’s rib cage was broken upon impact. Along with many other bones.

Tosoru opened his dry lips and produced a guttural moan, just like old people do before they whisper their last breath. The wheeze was barely hearable and quickly drowned in the forest stillness, yet Kutaru knew the meaning of this moan.

It was a cry—a desperate cry for help.

A flash of rage hit Kutaru. Twitching Tosoru was one of the unworthy those who tricked him into leading the way to the Mother-Bear’s sacred rest. Into betraying the Divine One. Into sinning before his chosen patron. 

Tosoru was guilty, just as others were.

Just as Kutaru was. 

All of those others were dead now. And Tosoru had to follow them.

How dare he hope to be spared the fate he deserves?!

The knife appeared in his hand all by itself. Tosoru unmistakably spotted the reflection of silver light on the blade’s surface. He closed his eyes in delight.

Gently and slowly, Kutaru ran his knife at Tosoru’s throat. The thick blood emerged from the cut in an unstoppable flow, flooding Kutaru’s hand, dripping from the handle. He expected some kind of solace or relief to fill him—some divine sign assuring him that he did the right thing.

There was nothing even remotely resembling that feeling. Instead, it was cold, hunger and fatigue that came crashing down on him with all of their might. 

Kutaru found himself kneeling in the middle of the mountain forest—alone, exhausted, desperate. The chill was creeping into his bones, making even breathing feel like a tremendous effort.

All of a sudden, Kutaru remembered Young Masu. Somewhere, in the vast chambers of the Daori-sui’s castle, a lone child was freezing to death, unaware that the quest—

Abyss take child. It be not the will of the mortal, but the divinity, which matters the most.

His vision started to wander. His mind was steadily falling into the deep waters. It was when he noticed something gleaming out of the corner of his eye. He turned to take a look.

There was a barely visible sheen coming from inside the black hollow of the cave. All at once, the sounds that surrounded the glade became tenfold stronger. The rustling of the pines and the falling of the heavy snow. The ringing of tiny bells and the flapping of the bird's wings.

The shrieking of the wind coming from the dark cave.

Or, perhaps, they were like that all along. Kutaru could not tell for sure.

He decided he did not care.

The bloodstained amulet on Kutaru’s neck became much heavier. It was hard for him to hold his neck upright anymore, so he groveled. And then, the amulet lifted slightly over his chest and pulled him—pulled toward the cave.

Kutaru clumsily crept forward. The amulet was now floating in front of him with the fangs pointing to the entrance of the Mother-Bear’s rest. The many noises around him went even louder than before. But they also became ordered as if trying to tell him something…

Kutaru stopped as soon as he reached the mouth of the cave. The amulet tugged so forcefully that he worried it might either tear away from him or snap his neck. He peered into the darkness of the hollow but could see nothing except for a faint, shifting sheen in the all-consuming void. It was luring him inside.

It be her. The Mother-Bear. She needs me…

The sounds of the glade blended into the voice, low and grinding. It did not emerge from some particular point but rather was born right inside Kutaru’s head. And it commanded him one thing, and one thing only.

"Come."

And putting on the smile of the condemned man, Kutaru did as he was told—crawled beyond the threshold and into the sacred darkness of the cave.