三 Part 03 (Truth)

The months passed by and spring made way for summer, filling the air with the hum of cicadas. Once a week, Kana would make her way up the mountainside to spend an afternoon in the old storehouse. The two would often spend the hours reading together or walking through the forest. She told him about humanity and the ways they lived, grew, and interacted. Shichi explained, to the best of his ability, the values held by the monks in the temple—that every being deserved the chance find happiness, and that every life had value. They found many similarities and many differences between their habits but, more importantly, they discovered connections between themselves.

Shichi’s long absences and unnaturally lighthearted moods did not go unnoticed by the others—namely, his mentor. Time and time again she cornered the young tengu, attempting to pry the truth from him. Instead, she received only well-thought-out excuses and alibis—that the arrival of summer made him cheerful, that chipmunks had eaten all of the horse chestnuts and he’d had to travel to the next mountain over to fetch some. He countered every accusation with a casual response, and Sagiri’s suspicions only festered as time went on.

It wasn’t until the arrival of autumn that she found the evidence she needed. She waited until the completion of their evening meditation before stopping him at the door. They were alone in the quiet hall, and Shichi looked at his master with pause.

“Can I do something for you?” he asked, wondering if she needed another errand before they turned in for the night.

“Yes, you can.” She closed the sliding door behind her. “You can tell me the truth.”

“The truth?”

“It is not our way to speak falsely. If you call yourself a monk, then you’ll tell me where you were yesterday afternoon.”

“I was in the forest, collecting ashitaba,” he replied, though a stone had begun to build in his stomach. Something about her words struck him.

“And who were you with?”

Shichi’s spine stiffened, though he did his best to keep his exterior calm. Why, all of a sudden, was she asking him this?

“Who could I have been with?” he asked, the words tasting like paper on his tongue.

“That’s what I’m asking you,” Sagiri said, then pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve. Shichi’s eyes locked on the cloth as she opened it, his heart beginning to race. The pounding grew louder in his head, finally deafening him as she revealed the single hair that rested inside. One long, black strand of hair—human hair.

“I found this on your clothing. Must I ask again?”

For a long while, Shichi stared down at the handkerchief. There was no excuse that could cover this, no lie that would satisfy his master. His body locked up, paralyzed by shame. Not only did Sagiri know the truth, but she also knew that he had lied to her over and over again.

“I . . .” His eyes darted over the boards of the wooden floor. “I was with someone.”

Sagiri didn’t respond, only waiting for him to continue.

“A human woman.”

Again, she simply waited. Shichi took in a breath, still unable to make eye contact with his mentor.

“We’re friends. She has been visiting for nearly a half year.”

“I see.”

Shichi finally dared to look up, his body wound in a tight cringe as he did so. It was now his turn to wait. His master’s expression was unreadable, not giving a single hint of whatever fate would befall him.

“Shichi,” she said, her tone even. “Do you know why we forbid contact with humans?”

“Because they’re dangerous,” he answered with a sigh. “But she would never—”

“What she would or would not do is of little significance. I have no quarrel with this woman, nor do I denounce your relationship. Your ability to interact peacefully with a human is commendable.”

Before Shichi’s fear could ease, she finished her line of thought.

“But not every human is peaceful. In the past, they have tormented our kind, as we have theirs. If you were to be discovered by the villagers, the entire temple would be in danger. They will not tolerate a tengu bewitching and luring off one of their own.”

“What should I do?” he asked, his voice weak.

“That is your decision to make. But do not forget—if you choose to continue this relationship, you will be putting every one of our lives at risk. Every moment you spend with this human is a moment of selfishness.”

The realization hit him like a torrent. Shichi could only look back at her, his voice failing.

“I could expel you from the temple for lying to me, but I have hope that you will not do it again. You will, however, be punished. All firewood duties before the first frost will be yours. This includes chopping and hauling. You will not communicate with your peers for one month, nor will you be allowed in the common areas.”

There was a pause, allowing time for him to absorb the weight of her verdict.

“Do you understand?” she asked, opening the door for him.

“I do,” Shichi said with a submissive nod, thankful that she was still tolerating him.

“Truly?” she said, her voice firm as her eyes locked onto his.

“Yes.”

“Go on, then,” she said, stepping aside. Shichi bowed deeply, keeping his head low as he stepped outside. He was met with brisk autumn air, the wind rolling a few dead leaves through the central courtyard. His mental unrest had manifested itself in a sharp headache, and he touched his forehead wearily. He was so deeply immersed in his thoughts that he barely noticed his fellow monk approaching.

“Oh, Shichi,” she said. “What did she say to you? Are you in trouble?”

Apparently their private talk hadn’t gone unnoticed by the other monks. This one was around his age, a young woman by the name of Sanae. She followed a different mentor and was studying calligraphy. Shichi sometimes wondered if his master had ever regretted taking him as a student and if she would have preferred someone more promising—someone like Sanae.

Shichi simply gestured to his beak, shaking his head helplessly.

“Ah, no talking. That’s rough,” Sanae said with a sympathetic tilt of her head. “Well, at least you won’t have to chat with Shingo anymore.”

Shichi couldn’t help but laugh, remembering the tengu who loved to explain, in incredible detail, his theories about the universe. It was usually interesting at first, but after several hours, most of his companions found themselves longing for death.

“I don’t want to get you into more trouble, so I’d better go. But hang in there, okay?”

Shichi nodded gratefully as she left. He realized, as he stood alone in the courtyard, that his choice wasn’t a choice at all. There was only one thing he could do.

#

When Kana finally visited again, Shichi was waiting for her. He stood outside the old storehouse with his arms folded into his sleeves. The sound of her approaching footsteps, normally a source of excitement, now felt like pinpricks under his skin. For a moment he closed his eyes, listening to the crunch of dried leaves beneath her sandals and the slightly awkward pacing of her steps; even after all this time she was still poor at mountain climbing. He remembered the sound of her arrival carefully. He would never hear it again.

“Shichi!” she called, her voice swift with excitement. “I brought you something.”

He opened his eyes, taking note of the long folded paper in her hands and the brightness in her expression. His intention had been to tell her the bad news the moment she arrived. A swift cut would be less painful. Even so, her eyes were full of happiness and he couldn’t bear to destroy that—not just yet. Perhaps they could have one last afternoon together.

“What is it?” he asked, feigning a pleasant expression.

“They’re celebrating in the village. It’s a holiday for children,” she said, clearly still winding down from the event. “It’s called Shichi Go San—like your name. You know, seven is a lucky number.”

“I suppose it is,” he said, not feeling particularly lucky at that moment.

She pulled a long white stick of candy from the paper. “Well, anyway, this is thousand year candy. For a long life.”

“Thank you.” He examined the stick in a way that made Kana laugh. “Ah, we don’t get much candy in the temple. How did you get this? Isn’t it for children?”

“I’m not that old.” She pushed some hair behind her ear. “I’m still eighteen.”

“Yes, you’re definitely still a child,” he said, his tone flat as he turned to go back

inside. She hurried alongside him, furrowing her brow at his words.

“What’s that supposed to mean? You can’t be that much older than me.”

“Tengu live much longer than humans do,” he said, sitting down to serve

some of the tea he’d brought.

“How old are you?” Kana asked, unable to hide the wince in her voice.

“I’m eighty-four.”

Kana sputtered into her tea, causing it to spill a bit as she started coughing.

“Are you all right?” He set his cup down in concern.

“You’re an old man—you’re older than my grandfather!” she exclaimed, wiping her chin dry with a handkerchief. “And he’s dead!”

“I don’t feel very old. My mentor is nearly twice my age.”

“Maybe you should give back that candy. You’ve already lived long enough.”

Shichi laughed and for a moment almost forgot the looming knowledge of this being their last day together. They talked for the rest of the afternoon, finishing the pot of tea down to the last leaves. It took all of Shichi’s strength to maintain a pleasant mood. He hung on her every word, not wanting to forget the way she told stories or the way she would push her hair out of her eyes when thinking intently.

They barely noticed when the sun set, and it was only when Shichi lit a lantern did he mention the time.

“Will you be all right going down the mountain this late?”

“I’ve done it before. My home is on the edge of the village, anyway. There’s a strong plum tree by the outer walls so I can sneak back in.”

“I can’t imagine you climbing,” he said, sitting down on his knees next to her, “with those flat human nails.”

“I climbed trees all the time when I was young. And my nails are fine. Yours look . . . intimidating.”

“What?” He held up his hand to examine the sharp, black claws on each finger. “They’re useful.”

“Are they like your beak?” Kana gestured to her own nose. “Does it have feeling?”

“Yes,” he said, his posture shrinking. Occasionally, their conversations would remind him of how physically different the two were. It was at these times he was the most self-conscious about his “monstrous” appearance.

“The tip doesn’t feel much, but it’s sensitive here,” he said, pointing to the base above his nostrils. She peered closer and he instinctively leaned away, still not accustomed to close proximities. This amused her and, with a smile, she lifted her hand.

“Can I feel?” she asked carefully, as if talking to a startled animal.

“I-if you wish.”

Gingerly, she rested her fingertips on the top of his beak. Giving him a moment to settle, she began to pet him the way one would stroke a cat. He let his eyes close, noting that it felt rather nice. Without thinking, he lowered his head for her, encouraging her hand higher. Her touch was gentle, soothing enough to calm his nervous pulse. The feathers on the back of his neck ruffled happily, and she bit her lip to hide a laugh.

After a moment, her hand left him. He was about to open his eyes when he felt a different sensation on his beak. It was a warmer, softer touch. He could feel the slight weight of her breath and the tug of her hand on his collar. His eyes snapped open in panic.

“W-what are you—”

Kana pulled back instantly, giving him a nervous smile.

“It’s . . . it’s called a kiss. I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.”

Even though he had never felt a kiss before, or even seen one, it was clear to him that it was an intimate gesture. The way she’d shifted so close to him and the way her fingers had gripped his robe—this wasn’t an expression of friendship. It was her way of showing that she felt something more.

“I can’t.” He shook his head. “I—”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, trying to keep the twinge of hurt from her voice. “I won’t do it again. It was just—”

“No, I can’t do this. I can’t see you anymore.”

They both went silent. Shichi cursed himself, wishing that he had said his goodbyes the moment she’d arrived. Now it would be more complicated. It would be more painful.

“What?” she finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“This is too dangerous. If we were found out by your village . . .” He struggled to find the words he had practiced earlier that day. “I— we can’t keep this up. You don’t belong here.”

Kana stared at him, her eyes welling up with tears and her brow knit in disbelief. When she finally found herself able to look away, she rubbed her sleeve over her face and grimaced.

“Why now? Why did you wait until now?” she demanded, her hands wound into tight fists.

“I’m sorry.”

“You should have left me in that stream,” she said. Unable to watch, Shichi could only listen as the door slid open and then slammed shut. His heart was burning, begging him to go after her. He wanted to call her name and pull her into his arms, to tell her how much she meant to him—that the days they spent together were the happiest in his life. Instead, he let his head drop, alone in the old storehouse with only empty tea cups to keep him company.