She Who Brings the Rain

Nobody seemed to notice that the rains came exactly when Miyo arrived in the small, rice paddy village of Minori.

Nobody except Akira.

*****

Miyo floated in, signs of long travel apparent in her clothes and bearing. She bowed low when she greeted the first person on the street and asked where she could rest for the night. Minori had a large inn that catered for the traders and the workers that came when the rice was growing strong. The man she had deigned to speak to was a younger gentleman of the village. Even from a distance, the look Akira saw on his face made wonder what beauty hid under that straw hat and hooded cloak.

Akira itched to go to the inn to see the woman, but he had jobs to be finished before the sun went down. He would see her later when he ventured out to eat at the inn for dinner as always.

Not even an hour later, the sky had gone from clear blue and cloudless, to dark and heavy with clouds that opened up in a downpour and a crash of thunder.

The rain they had all prayed for had finally arrived.

*****

Instead of the usual somber mood at the inn, people celebrated the coming of the rains. The spring and the summer had been dry, so dry even the wells started to struggle. The rice paddies had changed from their normal, vibrant green to a duller, sickly shade of green-yellow. The irrigation system Akira had devised had helped sustain the crops for longer than they should have, but one could not make something out of nothing. Eventually even the oceans would dry out if the rains never came.

As soon as he entered the tavern, Akira’s gaze instantly pierced through the fire’s smoke to find the newcomer seated at a table in the far corner, trying to go unnoticed. She had taken off her straw hat and the hood lay gathered around her neck and at her shoulders and he could see her face for himself.

She was beautiful.

Her long, ebony-coloured locks cascaded down her back, her face a perfect oval, framed by the firelight. Her skin was smooth and unblemished and her lips a deep mahogany. Her eyes were dark, yet glinted strangely, like the eyes of a wise, cunning fox. But perhaps that was the firelight flickering across her face.

She inhaled her sake and seemed to groan at its warmth. Akira considered approaching her but before he could, some of the inn patrons spotted him and bellowed.

“Looks like your prayers finally worked, Akira. You got the almighty goddess to listen to you, you of all men. Ha!” said an older gentleman, giving him a good-natured slap on the back.

His offerings to Inari were well-known and he was often mocked for it, in jest of course, but still. While there was an Inari shrine in the village, most village folk only prayed in passing or on the festival days. But Akira had been raised by his dear, departed mother and she had always paid great respect to the Japanese deities.

They had always kept a small altar to Inari in their humble home, a small wax tree growing beside it. Every day he and his mother would put a small portion of rice at the altar for Inari. When he was older, he had honed his wood carving skills and carved two small statues of Inari foxes to help carry his offerings to the Goddess.

“You never know who you might meet,” she used to say to him. “The lowly beggar on the street, the merchant selling wine, the soldier passing through or a beautiful woman with sparkling eyes, any of them could be a deity in disguise. They know when they are around those who give them the proper respect and those who doesn’t.”

She blew out the taper she had been using to light her small altar.

“Even if the spirits to not deign to acknowledge you, they know all. It is better to draw no attention than their ire.”

Akira had always believed that if a least one person kept worshipping Inari truly, the rains and the rice would always come.

Akira gave an awkward laugh and joined the group of men at the table. He felt more than saw the woman’s eyes on him, felt her unraveling him from a distance with only her eyes.

A red flush crept into his cheeks that was not to do with the heat and he tried to hide from the woman’s gaze with his dark fringe of hair. He sipped sake and ate the feast that was prepared for them at the table.

The whole time he could feel her eyes on him, unrelenting.

*****

It took a long time for him to discover Miyo’s name and even longer to know more about her as he could not bring himself to speak with her. Every time he thought of her, his face flushed and he had trouble breathing.

Akira was 23, which was considered old to be unmarried in his village. He was handsome, so he was told, with dark hair that hung past his ears and almond-coloured eyes. He was strong, for he was a farmer, and many a woman had eyed his hands as he had carved his wood and given delicate toys and ornaments to the children.

The children loved him and would often sing in the paddy fields with him, some of them helping him tend the tender plants. He had several village girls who would have taken him in marriage had he asked, but he had no interest in them. His family’s paddies and his work kept him busy and besides, his house was small. His riches lay in his paddy fields and the bamboo forest that whispered at their edges. Sometimes he wondered if the winds brought Inari’s blessing, for he could have sworn that on the day before Miyo came, he had seen a flash of orange fur.

The children also loved Miyo, which was how he knew as much as he did. They came whispering to him, and teasing.

She always wore her hair loose; she loved the rain and rice cakes. She could sing sweeter than the birds in the trees, and could dance and skip as gracefully as a cat. She also had skills at healing, which drew her some ire, but most were grateful for her help. She claimed she lived in a small hut in the forest that had once belonged to an old hunter man. No one had ever gone to visit her.

Most newcomers to the village were greeted politely, but not with open welcome. The elders kept a strict eye on them, ready to pass judgement if anything seemed amiss. It was no different with Miyo, and she got harsher looks from the women who had to smack their husbands over the heads for smiling at her too long.

Miyo did not seem to care.

She spent her days with the children under or near the pagoda, healing the ailments of those who were interested enough or desperate enough to go to her. He also saw her talking to the innkeeper’s wife, who was a kinder woman than most, and knew that she helped make the dinners at the inn.

But there was one question he could not get an answer to.

Why was she here?

*****

It had been almost a month since Miyo had arrived in the village, and Akira had gotten used to the glimpses he got of her by the pagoda and the inn.

So, he was surprised to see, on one early morning, that Miyo was nowhere to be found. The children were still in the pagoda, working on the weaving she had been teaching them, but she herself was not there. He quickly came over to the children and asked where Miyo was.

“We don’t know,” said Emi, a young girl of 9 years old that knew exactly what she wanted and when. “She said she may not come today because she is tired. Says she must breathe in the forest to rest for a while.”

“Hopefully she comes later! I want to show her my weaving,” said Emi’s brother Katsu, holding up part of his bamboo basket.

“Does she travel into the forest to get this bamboo?” Akira asked.

They all nodded.

“Yes, and she brings us pretty red blossoms from the forest too. We usually give them as gifts to our mothers and grandmothers,” Emi said proudly.

Akira thought for a long moment.

“I must go to my fields now, but please tell me if you see her. I want to make sure she is well,” he said.

“She has been looking paler than usual,” Katsu suddenly said. “But there has been so much rain that perhaps she needs more sun.”

Emi’s eyes glinted with mischief.

“Don’t worry, Akira. We will definitely tell pretty Miyo that you are looking for her.”

Akira blushed and tried to half-heartedly chase Emi away. She only giggled and ran off.

“Children,” he muttered as he walked off, but a smile touched his lips.

*****

Midday passed and still no Miyo. As the sun began to sink lower and lower towards the horizon, he grew more concerned. Perhaps something had happened to her? Perhaps she had tripped and fallen, perhaps she was truly ill. Perhaps something had stalked her in the forest. Or perhaps…perhaps she had left.

That thought made him despair and as dusk drew closer, he made his decision.

He confirmed with the innkeeper’s wife that Miyo had indeed not arrived for the evening meal. He expressed his concern as moderately as he could, although the look that she gave him echoed that of Emi’s.

She said if he wished to visit her, the path started at the edge of his furthest paddy field and he could take some herbs and tea for her if he wished.

The idea to go and visit her wormed incessantly in his head.

He felt it would be impolite to go to a woman’s home uninvited, but again, what if something was wrong. Surely a few angry words, maybe even a slap, would be okay to ensure she was safe. Although Miyo did not seem to be the type who would do any of that.

He agonised for a little while longer, made a quick prayer to Inari that all would be well, and set off towards the bamboo forest.

*****

Under the shade of the bamboo trees, the forest was already darkening even though the vibrant mix of colours at dusk were still present, the sun slowly sinking. Akira followed a faint trail weaving through, no doubt made by the man who had once used to live in the hut.

The bamboo trees swayed in the wind, bending and brushing against each other, whispering the wind and the forest’s secrets to each other. Akira enjoyed the forest and loved to see the vibrant yellow, black-marked orioles that flittered and twittered from tree to tree. Sometimes he would try to follow them and see where they would lead him. Once or twice he had found something of interest; a patch of hidden flowers or bamboo twined in a strange shape.

He eventually found the hut and, to his surprise, it looked abandoned. Surely Miyo would have done something to fix it? The roof was still intact but the windows were cracked which would make it draughty inside, and too cold as winter came.

With growing suspicion, Akira carefully completed a circuit of the hut and even looked inside. Nothing. Had Miyo left the village after all?

Akira’s head ran dark with many thoughts. She could have simply left, vanished into the wind without saying goodbye to anyone. She could have been attacked by bandits. True, there were few in this region as there was not much here worth stealing, but it was possible. Akira looked across the ground for signs of any disturbances or struggles.

He found none.

The sunlight was rapidly fading now, throwing everything into shadows that twisted and tricked the eyes.

Where was Miyo?

He was thinking of going back home to get torches and a light, maybe tell one of the other villagers, when a sweet singing came from above him. It sounded like the tune Miyo sometimes sang with the children.

He looked around and spotted an oriole, still visible even in the gloom.

It sang the tune again and fluttered its wings to hover over a certain spot. Akira walked towards it and when it fluttered further into the bamboo, he cautiously followed.

Eventually he saw the faintest trail through the bamboo, weaving and winding between the green, bending limbs. The darkness deepened as the bamboo canopy thickened and the sun seemed to finally sink itself below the horizon.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked the bird.

It twittered again, rather impatiently he thought, and he simply followed in silence.

Full darkness had fallen now and he could barely see his hand in front of his face. Only the urgent twitterings of the oriole gave him any indication of his direction. He knew there would be a full moon tonight, so hopefully that would lend him some light, especially if he got lost.

He nearly sighed when there seemed to be a break in the bamboo and he could indeed see some silver shafts of moonlight. He frowned as he also saw…smoke? Was someone, or Miyo, camping out here?

He was about to push through and stumble into the clearing when the brush of the oriole’s wings on his face pushed him back. Slowly instead, he went forward to first look at what lay before him.

It was not smoke he saw but steam. One of the famed hot springs lay nestled amongst a clearing in the grove of bamboo. The bamboo’s long stalks formed almost a wall around the spring, cutting it off from the rest of the world. The smell was slightly unpleasant, as the bubbling water came from deep underground. But the water was a clear turquoise that only occasionally bubbled and shifted. A small, gnarled tree, more like a bush, grew beside the springs, its dark, olive-coloured leaves almost obscured by the small, round red blossoms that Miyo gave to the children. Around the spring were smooth, grey stones, tufts of green grass poking around them. The moon could be seen to be peeking through the bamboo and the gentle wind whispered and swirled the steam around.

It was peaceful, magical.

Suddenly, a figure emerged from between the canes.

It was Miyo.

Her hair was, as usual, unbound and flowing. She was taller than he had realised, and slender. She wore an orange robe patterned with whites and blacks. She delicately dipped a pale toe in the water and sighed. Then, much to Akira’s embarrassed horror, she threw off her robe.

Akira averted his eyes, not wishing to intrude upon her privacy. His eye caught on a shaft of moonlight that had finally pierced the bamboo and alighted on the spring.

He gasped as he saw Miyo’s reflection in the clear waters. It was Miyo, yet not.

She still had her tall beauty and she was unclothed, but her face had become more angular with a triangle of white from her eyes to her nose and the rest of her face orange with black points. A pair of orange, triangular ears protruded from her hair.

But the most alarming things were her fox tails that waved behind her, tipped in white and sparkling. Eight of them.

Kitsune.

Miyo looked up quickly at his gasp and drew back from the water, covering herself again.

“Who is there?” she shouted, her voice still soft and sweet but with an unmistakable edge.

Akira froze, not knowing what to do.

“Please come out. I shall not harm you,” she coaxed.

Akira knew the stories of kitsune. There were good ones and bad ones, the tricksters. He did not think Miyo was a trickster, but she was still kitsune, the messengers of Inari. She sat at Inari’s feet and carried out her wishes.

What was a kitsune doing in Minori?

He slowly emerged from the bamboo and bowed deeply.

“It is I, Akira. I am sorry to have disturbed your peace, kitsune of Inari.”

“Akira? Finally you speak with me,” she laughed, sounding like the oriole. “You have nothing to apologise for, blessed of Inari.”

When he looked up, she saw the confusion on his face.

“You are blessed of Inari. Why do you think the rains came for your crop? I was sent at Inari’s behest, a reward for your devotion to her, and your mother’s devotion. She was sorry for the loss of your mother and her prayers.”

Akira could not comprehend that the great goddess knew who he was.

Miyo smiled again, as warm as sunlight.

“I came as a gift to you, Akira. I am wise in the ways of the world, for I have earned my eight tails. But of love and of children…there is some wisdom to be gained there still, the wisdom for my ninth tail.”

She looked shyly at him and Akira blushed deep to his roots. Miyo held out her hand and for a moment, a life, a beautiful, full life, flashed before his eyes. His life. Their life.

He breathed a deep breath and took her hand.