No. But these are not simple displaced farmer folk either.
When the feast was done, Eiko offered to take Yukiko to the bathhouse, and Isao suggested he should come along. Eiko punched him in the stomach, threatening to cut his privates off, and the boy soon took his leave. With a small smile, the girl produced a bar of soap from within her obi. It smelled of honeysuckle and fresh daisies, and Yukiko closed her eyes, inhaling the fragrance and trying to calculate how long it had been since she’d had a warm bath. Her skin tingled at the thought of it.
“Hai,” she breathed. “Please.”
The girls walked together across creaking boards and swaying rope bridges, listening to the voice of the wind in the leaves. The thunder tiger padded a safe distance behind them, ropes creaking dangerously under his weight, wings slightly spread in case the bridge beneath him decided to give way. The sun was beginning to set in the west, fingers of burning red piercing the forest canopy, deepening the shadows amidst the treetops. Yukiko found herself astounded at the scale of it all; teahouses and storerooms among the winding branches, sprawling family homes, even a crude village center, fashioned from a broad platform of unfinished cedar wood.
As they drew closer, Yukiko realized some kind of gathering was taking place in the square, and she stopped, uncertain, reaching out with nervous fingers toward Buruu. With a smile, Eiko took hold of her hand and led her toward the group.
Two dozen children were sitting in a wide semi-circle, scattered across the landing in the long, muted light of the afternoon sun. Daichi was perched on a rough wooden stool at their center, loose, worn cotton draped about his body, a ceramic cup full of clear water clutched in one hand. His sword was tucked into his obi, his other hand on the hilt, all calluses and scarred knuckles. He leaned closer, one elbow on his knee, and looked each child in the eye.
“. . . but the Maker God, great Lord Izanagi, refused to accept his wife’s death after the birth of Shima. His love for her was as deep as the ocean, as wide as the great blue sky, for indeed, the sky was blue in days long past. And, ignoring the warnings of the kami spirits, the Maker God traveled by long and hidden roads, to bring his beloved Izanami back into the land of the living.”
Yukiko and Eiko took up position quietly at the back of the crowd, leaning against the railing, towels and soap in their hands. Buruu stood beside them, tail sweeping from side to side, tense and irritable. The platform groaned as he shifted his footing. One of the children looked back and caught sight of the arashitora, breath catching in his lungs. He tugged on the sleeve of a friend’s uwagi, eyes like saucers, mouth opening and closing without making a sound. The friend looked up to see what the fuss was about, several others followed his gaze, and all of a sudden there came a great shout from the children; a jumbled clamor of overjoyed shrieks, a tumult of little hands and feet across the floorboards, running toward the arashitora as if he were some new puppy dog with which to play.
A single deafening roar rang out among the treetops, windows rattling across the village, wisteria petals drifting down to the forest floor in gentle, tumbling showers. The stampede halted as suddenly as it had begun, and the children scampered back to Daichi’s circle, pale and petrified.
The old man nodded a greeting to Yukiko, a small smile on his lips. “Forgiveness, sama.” Yukiko covered her fist, bowed. “Buruu means no harm.”
“Do not apologize, Yukiko-chan.” Daichi glanced around at the children, a mock frown on his face. “Respect is a lesson well learned in the presence of thunder tigers.”
“We did not wish to interrupt.”
“It is no imposition. Please, stay. Listen.”
Eiko shuffled a little closer to Yukiko, whispering as the children resumed their seats.
“This is a kind of ritual up here. The children gather in the square at weeksend, and Daichi tells them stories of yesteryear. Gods. Heroes. Myths.”
“Is it weeksend already?” Yukiko blinked.
“Hai.”
Yukiko was astonished to learn that so much time had passed since she left Kigen. The days in the mountains had become a blur, one melting into another. It must have been almost three weeks since they first set out on the Thunder Child.
The truth was, it seemed like a lifetime ago.