九 Part 09 (Doe)

Sagiri’s warning had not been in jest. From the moment that Shichi’s wound closed into a long, pale scar, his days were brimming with labor. He worked harder than he ever had in his life, cooking their meals, chipping through ice, digging, climbing, and performing maintenance on the hut. As they were no longer able to rely on the temple gardens for food, the variety of their meals was poor at best. Only Sagiri’s boundless knowledge of edible roots and nuts kept them alive through the winter. Shichi’s body grew leaner as he devoted all of his energy to basic necessities.

“The first thing you’ll need to know is how to tend serious wounds,” she had said at the start of his renewed training. “In the temple, the most you ever dealt with was kitchen accidents and sparring scrapes. On your own, you will face hunters, beasts, and the elements. You’re not much of a fighter, so you’ll have to be an exceptional healer.”

His medicinal studies had intensified, focusing on critical treatment in a variety of circumstances. He would no longer have access to a selection of stored herbs and tools. It would be important to make the best of his surroundings, to be familiar with every use of a plant and each option available to him.

It was one particularly cold day when they came across a fallen sika deer in the woods. A trail of blood covered its tracks, showing where it had hobbled between the trees. Deep tooth marks lined the doe’s back leg, evidence of its prior struggle with a predator of some kind.

“Go ahead,” was all Sagiri said as she gestured toward the animal. Shichi looked back at his mentor with uncertainty, then gave an obedient nod.

He approached the animal slowly, fully aware that the doe was capable of killing him. She stared back, tail twitching, eyes wide and nervous. The deer made an awkward attempt to flee, only managing to stumble against a tree. He hushed her as he came closer, keeping his posture low and his voice gentle. Her body shuddered as she once again failed to stand.

“It’s all right,” he said. “I’m going to help you.”

The deer clearly did not understand his words, yet his tone seemed to ease her fussing. Her ribs rose and fell with each pant; only when he noticed her breathing relax did he shift cautiously closer. Shichi kept his eyes on her hooves, ready to step back if she were to kick or snap at him. When his hand touched her back, the doe jerked in response. He kept his palm flat, noticing the flutter of her breath as she eventually calmed.

“I promise I won’t hurt you,” he assured the beast, showing his intentions with a light stroke on her spotted shoulder. When the animal didn’t protest, he quickly set to work on the wound. He used snow to wash the cuts, removing dirt and fur along with dried blood. The doe watched him as he tended to her, her nostrils flaring with each breath. Once the gashes were cleaned and poulticed with the herbs they’d gathered that morning, he realized that he didn’t have any bandages, nor did he have access to any leaves as a substitute. His hand went to the white ribbon that he kept tied around his wrist, then paused.

For a moment, he forgot his task, thinking only of Kana and the time she had sprained her ankle. She had been afraid of him, just as he had been of her. Memories of that day flooded his thoughts, reminding him of the hesitancy in her eyes and how warm she had felt against his back. It would not be possible to visit her during his year in training—both the distance and risk were too great. All he could do was hope that she would wait for him.

The deer snorted, bringing him back to the moment. Forgetting the ribbon, he tore his own sleeve into a piece long enough for wrapping. He covered the cuts, keeping the makeshift bandage firm, but loose enough to eventually fall off. Soon, the cloth was tied and the wound was fully dressed.

Shichi backed up carefully, leaving the doe to herself as he returned to Sagiri’s side. She gave only a simple nod before they continued on their way.

“Do you think she’ll survive?” he asked, his eyes low as they walked.

“Time will tell.”

There was a moment of thoughtful silence between them before Sagiri broke it with a sigh.

“You know we only have one extra robe, don’t you?”

#

Shichi’s training didn’t end with medicine. The shakujo she had asked him to bring had not only been for walking. Sagiri had immediately set to instructing him in its proper usage; it was no longer possible for him to shirk defensive training. Each morning, after washing and meditation, several hours were spent with practice and sparring.

It was summer before he began to show any signs of skill, not accustomed to the speed and exertion of fighting. The trees were heavy with cicadas, their trills deafening as Shichi regained his balance after a block. Sagiri attacked again, her naginata cutting through the air toward his torso. The wooden handles clacked loudly as they met, the force of her strike sending him a step backward. Before he could read her next move, she planted her heel hard into his collar. Shichi toppled easily, tripping backward over a thick tree root. The tip of her blade stopped just short of his flashing throat before she drew back to let him stand.

Panting, he picked himself up and repositioned. He knew that he was terrible at fighting. A part of him longed to quit, to tell Sagiri it was a waste of time and energy. He also knew, however, that the only thing worse than being poor at something was to give up on it. Sagiri had the patience for a weak performance—she didn’t hold the same for a weak attitude.

She beckoned him with a simple hand gesture and he tightened his grip on the staff before moving in to attack. She dodged the path of the weapon, turning her body to bring a blow on the base of his neck. Once again, he dropped, wincing as his knees hit the ground. He could hear the naginata whistle as it swept toward him, drawing his staff up just in time to parry it. The metal rings clinked with the impact, filling the clearing with jarring chimes. Glaring, he leaned into the weapon, pushing his mentor backward as he got to his feet.

He couldn’t understand how she could remain so calm, while at the same time he struggled for breath. There was no emotion on her face as she fought him—no anger, fear, or hesitation. Perhaps letting go of these feelings would be beneficial for him, as well. Taking in a slow breath, he cleared his thoughts. The handle of the shakujo struck her flat against the chest, then twisted to come down against the back of her neck. Sagiri dodged the attempt, using her elbow to knock the spot between his eyes. His vision flashed as he clutched his face, lowering his guard long enough for her blade to stop next to his head in another victory. Glancing sideways to catch the gleam of metal, he sighed.

“That was better,” she said, relaxing her posture.

“Was it?” he asked, his tone dry with skepticism. “I’m still losing.”

“I’ve been using a naginata for over a century. You’re going to continue losing,” she said. “Your stance still needs work. Remember to keep your feet apart.”

Shichi bowed his head to show his understanding, then followed her back into the hut. Though he was still trying to catch his breath, not a feather on her head was out of place.

#

By the time autumn arrived, he had grown competent in defending himself. He had still lost every match against Sagiri, but by then, he’d grown used to it. She continued to teach him about the forest and how to make use of it, often taking him for treks that spanned several days in search of a larger variety of plant life.

“These mushrooms are quite hardy.” Sagiri said, crouching near the base of a tree. “They grow in all climates, even in the snow.”

Shichi kneeled beside her. “I see.”

“You must be careful, though. There are two types, and they often grow side by side. One will offer sustenance, but the other is severely toxic. Eating one will send you into fits of incredible pain. It isn’t usually fatal, but after a few hours of suffering you might pray for death.”

Shichi nodded, but his attention was drawn to the terrain behind her. There was a shuffle of leaves and his eyes caught the outline of a deer making its way through the trees. The doe’s ears perked, looking back at the two tengu as she sniffed the air. After a moment, she decided that they posed no threat, turning to disappear into the underbrush. As the animal stepped away, Shichi noticed a trail of long scars on her hind leg.

“The poisonous ones have spots which are smaller and clustered closer together. They—” Sagiri said, but stopped when she realized her student was gazing off into the distance. “Are you listening to me?”

“She survived,” he said, his voice trailing in thought.

Sagiri stared at him, then shook her head in resignation. “Yes, very good. Now pay attention. This is important.”

Before long, autumn hit its peak, covering the mountainside with an explosion of color. A blanket of yellow leaves covered the clearing, warming the chilly atmosphere with their hue.

“Gather your things,” Sagiri said just as they had finished their breakfast. “All of them.”

“Where are we going?” Shichi asked, taking their bowls to be washed.

“That’s your choice,” she said. “I won’t be coming with you.”

Shichi’s hand froze on the tea cup he had reached for. Slowly, he looked up at her. His heart began to pound as he realized what she meant by her words.

“I know it hasn’t been a year yet,” Sagiri said. “But you’ve come very far since last winter. You’ve shown that you’re capable of discipline and self-sufficiency.”

Shichi didn’t answer right away. He had thought there would be more time—time to prepare himself, to get used to the idea of being alone. There was still so much he didn’t know. She placed a firm hand on his shoulder, looking him in the eyes as she spoke.

“You’re ready.”

He could only nod in response. She seemed so convinced by her own words, so why wasn’t he?

Silently, he cleaned the hut and placed some provisions into a satchel. He had few possessions, keeping only his robes and the set of acupuncture needles that had survived the fire. Sagiri led him outside, then handed him the walking staff.

“You’ll be your own teacher now,” she said, “though I was honored to be yours in the past. I couldn’t have asked for a better student.”

Shichi had never heard such words from Sagiri, and part of him wasn’t sure that he’d heard her correctly. He had looked up to her for many years, aspiring to be half as skilled as she. After decades of feeling unworthy, of fearing that he was wasting her time, she had eased his heart with one simple statement.

“Thank you.” He bowed deeply. “For not giving up on me. For everything.”

Sagiri returned the bow, her expression warm once she straightened. He held her gaze for a moment, then turned to leave. The leaves rustled under his sandals as he left the clearing, keeping his eyes forward. Somehow, they had both avoided saying “goodbye.” He knew that as long as he remembered her teachings, and as long as he never strayed from the right path, his mentor would always be with him.