The Eye of the Kami

“Papa!”

Gin awoke with his head buzzing and his face throbbing with pain. He blinked his eyes open and lifted his head to orient himself. He had been moved to the side of the road, and he was no longer prone, but lying on his back on a soft bed of grass. He sat up quickly, but the suddenness of this caused him to become dizzy, so he held himself steady with his aching arms.

“Gin-san?” a familiar voice asked. “Are you alright?”

Gin slowly turned around in search of the voice. Before him knelt Ota-san, filling up a gourd flask with water from the nearby stream. His face showed signs of worry, and his eyes were cautious.

“Yukiana…” Gin groaned, the memory of his bitter failure starting to return.

“We know,” Ota said gravely, stepping over and handing him the flask. He then sat on his knees next to him. “Maeta told the village that your daughter had been taken. We summoned the entire valley and sent them out looking for her. We found Goto-san…” Ota’s face showed signs of horror mixed with anger. “Did he have anything to do with it?”

Gin shook his head. “He tried to stop the man who took her and succeeded in injuring him but suffered a fatal blow in the attempt. It was a courageous act, and he died to save a member of his community. He did far more than I…” This was said with obvious self-loathing. Gin then took the gourd and sucked the contents down. He had forgotten how thirsty he was. “It was the merchant in black, the outsider from the festival. He was the one who took her.”

“And the patrol?” Ota asked quietly. “The merchant’s doing?”

Gin’s features seemed to harden. “No…” he said quietly.

Ota sat back, visibly disturbed. “Then you have made powerful enemies. Indeed, Gin-san, it seems both the powers of heaven and earth rally against you. It is no wonder you came to Kokoro Village. One would wonder why you stayed on the Islands at all.”

Gin heaved himself up, pausing a moment to make sure he was steady. He walked over to the stream and filled the flask once again, drinking it down quickly. He glanced down at his reflection in the stream; his face was smeared with blood. He could not tell whose blood it was. He cupped his hands and splashed his face, washing it until it was clean.

“It doesn't matter,” he finally said. “If someone wanted me, they could have come for me. Taking my daughter, there's no excuse for it,” he said this through gritted teeth as his eyes gleamed, appearing wild, almost feral.

“You’re right,” Ota said calmly. “That is why I am here. Although I don’t know whether or not you deserve punishment, I know that your daughter is clearly innocent. Only the vilest of men would steal a child away from her father’s house.” He paused. “Also, I owe you more than figs for what you did for me this year. So, here is my recompense.” He paused a moment before speaking. “I have lived in these lands all my life, and I know them well. Your man went along the north road. His most likely destination is Kagiminato, the largest city on this island and the closest to Nakashima. From there he could easily take a ferry across the strait or hop aboard a ship that would take them anywhere on the Islands. The north road eventually turns northwest to circle around Mount Omukae, and then finally cuts back along the northern coast and towards the city of Kagiminato. It's about a six-day journey on foot.”

“I know it well,” Gin replied. “It’s the same way I came to Kokoro those years ago. If I can overtake them along the way, perhaps I can...”

“Your horse,” Ota said, pointing down the road. There laid the large brown body of Goro-Goro. It was still upon the earth. “He didn't make it. His heart gave out, poor beast.”

Gin grimaced, feeling as if another crippling blow had landed upon him. He did not know the horse for long, but it had served him faithfully.

“Don't blame yourself, Gin-san,” Ota said quietly. “It is said that these animals can sense the feelings of their rider. He gave his life to help you, a noble cause. And even if he were still here, you would not be able to take the north road.”

“Why not?” Gin asked, bristling.

Ota lifted a gray eyebrow. “You are a wanted man now Gin-san, and you should not forget it. You slew five of the daimyō’s soldiers. That's a capital offense as you well know. They will hunt you down from now until you face justice or flee these lands. The north road is the last place you'll want to find yourself.”

“Then I will never catch them!” Gin lamented.

“Not by that way. But there is another path...” Ota said with a surprising tone.

“The southern path would take even longer,” Gin continued, thinking out loud. “I’d have to go three days south before cutting east. I’d be losing at least a few more days, and those roads are often patrolled as well.”

“You’re right,” Ota agreed.

“Then how am I to catch them? If they make it to Kagiminato I lose her!” his voice was haggard, wracked with panic.

“There is another path, a more direct path,” Ota continued. “One that you won’t find on any map.”

Gin paused and stared at Ota intently.

“It goes northeast around Mount Omukae and connects to the coast, just south of Kagiminato,” he explained. “It's an old pilgrimage path, one that only monks take, but only ones of very ancient sects. Patrols will not be on it, because they do not know it. It is an overgrown, narrow path, one which requires some degree of climbing, so it can only be taken on foot. But it will get you there in a week’s time.”

Gin’s eyes widened. “A week?”

“Yes, if you make good speed, you can reach the south gates of Kagiminato in a week.”

Gin was stunned. Just as he thought that it was all over, a glimmer of hope had appeared.

“Take me,” he implored, bowing low.

Ota nodded. “But you'll also be needing this.” He held up Gin’s sword, which he had picked up from the ground where he had fallen.

Gin hesitated when he first saw it. If his sword had not failed him, this whole thing would now be over. Perhaps it was his fault for neglecting it all these years. Even so, it would be necessary from here on out. He could not abandon it now. He took the sword and tucked it into the left side of his waist sash.

“Let’s go,” he said.

Ota brought him further down the north road for about ten or fifteen minutes. He then made for the side of the road, crossed the clear stream that ran parallel to it, and finally stopped. Ahead of him was an ancient stone lantern that stood about waist high. The bottom was overgrown with vines and vegetation so that any demarcation upon it was completely covered. The top, which splayed out like a small roof to a tiny room, was thick with a layer of bright green moss. One could easily mistake it for a shrub or small tree.

“Here it is,” Ota said, extending his arm towards the small break in the wall of bamboo and other unyielding vegetation. Gin could not distinguish anything that resembled a path and could barely see a few feet past the opening. He would have to crouch to even fit inside it if he were to proceed through. The way had an air of hostility about it. It was a place that had not been disturbed and did not seem to welcome unwanted visitors. His apprehension must have shown on his face as Ota encouraged him.

“If you push through this for a while you will emerge into the forest where the bamboo is less dense. There will be a rudimentary path, but if you follow it, you will get to where you need to go. Keep an eye out for lanterns like this one. Some are broken or completely overgrown, but they will keep you on the path if the way seems unsure. Don’t give up Gin-san and may the All-kami guide you.”

Ota bowed with an air of finality and Gin reciprocated. The intense light of day was giving way to vague hues of dusk. He thought of his daughter and shuddered. Whatever lay ahead for him on this path, it was nothing compared to what she was going through. Redoubling his resolve, he stooped low and pushed on ahead. Within moments, the light from where he had come was altogether extinguished. All he could do was grope in the darkness, pushing onwards as thick vines and bone-hard bamboo brushed against him, pushing him back. Many times, he became tangled, almost suffocated by the brush, unable to even reach down to his side and cut through with his sword. But he pushed through nevertheless, snapping the snares around him and casting aside any hindrance. His mind was focused on one thing, and nothing would stop him. Nothing.

Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity of swimming through the strangling mass, the brush gave way to a quiet wood, like what Ota had previously described. It was far less thick, but still, the leaves overhead nearly blocked out the sky completely. Only the faint orange hue of dusk could be seen in small openings, which dotted the canopy overhead. Despite this, Gin was happy to be able to move his limbs freely once again. Ahead of him was another overgrown lantern, this one crumbling and dotted with strange finger-like mushrooms, but it lifted his heart to see that he was going in the right direction.

“Yosh!” he said aloud and then proceeded on as the sun finally set, and the wood darkened.

A few hours passed and Gin advanced onwards, but he was battling fierce exhaustion. His head nodded, and his eyes opened and closed sporadically. He would find himself straying further and further away from the path, having to reposition himself, which cost precious time. Delirium was setting in, and he thought more than once that he was back in the comforts of his house, with his daughter nearby, reading a book or playing her shamisen. The day had been long, brutally hot, and both physically and emotionally draining. He was beyond his wit’s end. He stopped instinctively and reached for the gourd flask that had been given to him by Ota-san. Only upon bringing it to his lips did he realize that it was empty and that it was not the first time he had tried to drink from it. This time he lifted his head and peered around.

He was still alone in the woods, with only the scarce moonlight and starlight above to illuminate his path. He was atop a broad hillock, surrounded by a sea of slender bamboo trees, pines, and patches of moss. A thin layer of mist now covered the low places of the wood. He closed his eyes, listening intently, straining his ears. He heard the deafening cry of the forest’s nocturnal inhabitants echoing like a chorus. In the very midst of their song, he found what he was looking for. His eyes opened wide.

He turned to his right and proceeded down the embankment of the hillock. It was steep, and his legs could barely keep him up, but he reached the bottom just in time. There before him was a small mountain stream, trickling softly and glowing faintly in the starlight. He did not even bother to fill up the gourd but stumbled to his knees and drank directly from the stream itself. He gulped furiously, lifting his head only to catch his breath. The water was cool and refreshing, and it lifted his mind from the cloudy haze of weariness. For several moments he knelt there, lapping at the fresh water. Then, he began to fill the gourd so that he would have some reserved for the long journey ahead.

Suddenly, he thought that he had heard something stir. Perhaps it was the stream itself or some slight breeze rustling through the trees. He looked up and inspected his dark surroundings once more. This was a lost place, far from any city or village. It belonged to the wild things and the ancient trees. This was a place untouched by human hands. He needed to be wary.

“Is someone there?” a strange voice called out in the distance.

Gin dropped the water flask in astonishment. It was a voice, a human voice, and a woman’s voice. Could it be? Could it really be her? Or was he hearing things, imagining what he desperately longed for? He strained his eyes to see where the voice was coming from, but he could see nothing.

“Yuki?” he whispered instinctively, wondering now if he was hallucinating.

“Help! I need help!”