She hadn’t misheard. She knew she hadn’t.
Her eyes stopped on a boat with a familiar octopus symbol painted in white on the hull. It was a subtle, quiet design most likely overlooked by most. Two sailors worked on the ship’s sail, which must have taken a beating during some storm for it clearly needed repairs. A neat square of boxes piled high in the middle of the boat’s foreword deck caught Yuna’s eye. She smiled.
Just as she desired.
A man near the dock of the boat stepped blithely up the stairs, and locked his eyes. Yuna tensed, then calmed.
The man wore a violet robe that flapped around his sides. It also revealed a bare chest and strong shoulders. He stopped just out of reach of her arms. An astute decision.
“It’s a pleasure to see you, Nishu Yuna.” He bowed his head.
“The agreements have been met?”
“Indeed. We always seek to fulfill our side of a bargain.”
“Very wise of you.”
Yuna reached into a hidden pocket inside her cloak and pulled out a small scroll the size of her palm. It was sealed with a dollop of colorless wax, and had a nine-tails fox imprinted upon it.
Behind the man, sailors unloaded the boxes onto the dock with careful movements, setting them delicately on top of one another. Yuna’s gaze flickered to them, then back to the violet-clad man.
“This is for your master.”
He accepted the scroll. “A pleasure, Nishu Yuna.”
Hadjia
Hadjia stared at the giggling children in confusion. There were five children, skipping in a circle, chasing each other.
The quiet forest created a verdant and lush backdrop for them as they played, twisting vines and gnarled roots beneath their little feet. A slight fog filled the air, glimmering every now and then with miniature lights. Everything sounded distant to Hadjia, as if heard through glass.
One of them broke away and gazed at Hadjia with wide eyes. Hadjia recoiled. The little girl approached, one hand held out. “Come, Hadjia. Play with us!” Her voice chimed, as if in a dream.
Hadjia found herself following the little girl, stumbling as she tried walking next to her, with uncertain steps, even though Hadjia was never uncertain.
The sound of their playing echoed in her ears.
Such a strange, careless sound.
“Ring around the rosy!” they chanted, joining hands. Their small bodies and childish voices rose louder with the next verse. “The world of ours will fall!”
Inside their circle stood a little girl dressed in white, the hem of her dress falling to her knees. A blindfold crossed her face.
The girl who had pulled Hadjia closer released her hand and darted over, joining the other children as they raced in a circle now, increasing the words with their steps.
“Ring-a-ring of roses. The world of ours will fall. War. War. We fall to the ground and . . .”
“Die!”
All the children stopped as the little girl in the middle pointed with her left hand to a boy with blonde hair and bright blue eyes. He instantly tumbled to the ground. After a pause where Hadjia heard nothing, the boy clambered back to his feet. The eyes of the other children followed him.
“No!” Hadjia said. “You are dead. You cannot rise!”
The boy turned to her with a piercing gaze. “It is not me who will die,” he called, puffing out his chest. “It’s you! All of you!”
He reached out his hands and the other children accepted them again. They continued with the song as if the boy had never been chosen. Their words seemed to echo even louder, expanding in the strange, foggy silence of the thick forest.
“Ring around the rosy . . .”
Hadjia’s breath caught. The little girl in the center of the circle now wore a blood-red dress. The blindfold still covered her eyes. Crimson lines dripped down the front, staining it slowly. The blood dripped to the ground. Something cool slid across Hadjia’s palm. When she glanced down, a sticky, smooth liquid crept across them. Blood.
“Ring around a rosy. The world of ours will fall. War! War!”
Hadjia backed away. She scrubbed her hands on her clothes, but the blood didn’t leave. Her breathing turned frantic. The little girl in the blood-red dress turned, her blindfold gone. Her eyes bored into Hadjia’s and her arm started to raise.
Just as the girl’s lips parted, a voice shouted, “What is that? Hadjia? Do you see what I am seeing?”
Hadjia jerked awake.
A swath of forest, with deep emerald green leaves and thick branches towering overhead, was surrounding her. The air felt thick, heavy with a floral scent. She blinked, pulling herself out of a stupor, and gazed around.
Hadjia straightened, clearing the last remnants of sleep from her mind.
The time had come for Renji’s Mukatan already.
Renji was crouched next to Hadjia and peering around the trunk of a sprawling tree. His fine brown hair was saturated with moisture, and his skinny limbs muscular, even for a fourteen-year-old.
On the other side of Renji was Kaneko. She was staring out into the trees, her forehead puckered into deep lines.
“It’s real!” Renji hissed. “It’s a woman.”
“It’s not real,” Kaneko said.
“We can’t both be imagining it!” Kaneko said.
Their quarreling pulled Hadjia to her knees. She peered out into the forest. A glowing light emanated from deep in the forest not far away, the sight of it interrupted only by tree trunks and bushes. The strange light burned a bright white, turning to blue on the edges. Details of a human form appeared around the light.
“It’s a woman,” Hadjia whispered. “See? Look at her hair.”
Strands of long black hair, dark as pitch, tumbled onto the woman’s shoulders in wild disarray. She moved slowly, so slowly it seemed she had to stop and rest in between every step. Her toes dragged in the dirt, leaving soft trails behind her. Although her mouth hung open, she uttered no sound.
Hadjia heard nothing. The light shifted, dimming slightly. The woman came into greater focus.
Her eyes—they were so empty.
Hadjia retreated, slipping behind the cover of a tree. Kaneko and Renji followed.
“What is it?” Renji hissed. “Why is it here?”
Kaneko swallowed, meeting Hadjia’s concerned gaze. “It’s . . .”
All three of them peered around the tree again. The woman had her back to them as she shuffled the opposite way. Her hair swayed around her shoulders, swinging like the folds of her white gown. Behind her, the orb followed, blindingly bright. They retreated again.
“It’s ignoring us, at least,” Kaneko said with a shrug. “But, maybe . . . Maybe it’s a Baja.”
“Baja?” Renji whispered.
“Do you remember the story that Mother told us? The one about restless spirits that wander?” Kaneko asked.
Renji shook his head. Hadjia’s eyes widened.
“Mother said they looked just like that woman. With a light trailing them. Making no sound. Dragging themselves around as if they’re too heavy to bear the weight of their own existence. A Baja. It must be!” Kaneko conjectured.
Renji’s nostrils flared slightly, and his eyes narrowed to slashes. “What does it mean? There’s something you’re not telling me!”
Hadjia pressed her lips together. “Bajas are bad omens,” she murmured.
“Imminent misfortune sometimes follows,” Kaneko said, brushing her comment off.
Always follows, Hadjia wanted to say. But one look from Kaneko sealed her silence, and she bit back her retort.
Hadjia leaned to the side, peering around the tree. The figure had vanished, taking the light with it. There was nothing but the eerie silence of the forest.
“I’m doomed!” Renji suddenly wailed. “I will not succeed.”
“Hush. Your fate isn’t determined by a Baja,” Kaneko said. “You decide it yourself. You know what to do. Focus. Focus on what needs to be done.”
Renji closed his eyes. “Fulfill the Mukatan.”
“Yes. Make the Mother proud.”