十ニ Part 12 (Howl)

From that moment, Shichi was constantly on the move. There was no time to forage, meditate, or enjoy the scenery. Each time his stomach twisted in hunger, he remembered the glints of knives and teeth, and the ravenous look in the hunter’s eyes. He had to put as much distance between himself and Zaisei as possible. His goal was farther east, where the river met the sea. If he could only make it to the next island, he was certain that he would find safety.

It was only when the sun began to rise that he remembered to rest. The pine tree he had chosen was tall and proud, easily supporting his weight on one of its loftiest boughs. He folded his arms across his chest, closing his eyes in an attempt to sleep. This proved to be easier in theory—the knot in his stomach cried out for attention, jabbing him with caustic pangs. He curled forward, trying to ignore the discomfort, but ultimately failing.

Opening his eyes, he glanced up at the branches. He thought back to what Sagiri had taught him about pine trees—the needles were edible and could be used to make tea. The inner lining of the bark could also be eaten. The best part of a pine, however, was in its cones. Pine nuts were flavorful and nutritious. Unfortunately, it was too late in the year to depend upon them.

Reaching up, he stripped a handful of needles from a branch. He knew that he would gain little energy from eating them, but it would at least silence his stomach for a while. He tried not to make a face at the taste, reminding himself that he was lucky to be eating at all. As he swallowed, his eyes caught sight of something on a higher branch—an unopened pinecone. Feeling hopeful, he eased the young branch lower to twist it free. He used a claw point to part the shell and, to his delight, it was indeed carrying nuts. One by one, he removed the seeds, then proceeded to crack them from their dark, sooty shells. Just as he was about to finish, a rustling drew his attention to the end of his bough.

A crow stood perched at his feet, tilting its head in interest. The sight surprised him—most of the crows had already migrated to other territories. It would be winter any day now, and food was scarce. The bird cawed unbecomingly, ruffling itself in a transparent plea for attention. As its wings stretched, Shichi noticed that one of them was crooked. Perhaps its cumbersome flying had stranded it here. Shichi sighed.

“I suppose you’re hungry,” he said. The crow hopped closer, puffing its feathers as it eyed the food in his hand.

“You’ll have to come get it,” he said, offering his palm. “I’m not going to deliver these to you.”

The sight of the exposed pine nuts brought a new courage to the crow; it jumped up onto his knee and began to eat eagerly from his hand. When it had devoured every last nut, it looked up at him, letting out an expectant caw.

“I’m sorry, that’s all I have. Unless you like pine needles.”

Despite the lack of food, the bird seemed content on his knee. Shichi stroked the back of its head, happy to have company that wasn’t trying to kill him. Though the sun was rising, the air still carried a bitter chill, making him wish he’d brought another robe.

Shichi closed his eyes, knowing that it wasn’t healthy to dwell on what he couldn’t have. The important thing was that he was still alive. By all accounts, he shouldn’t have been, and that was enough to be thankful for. Even so, he still looked fondly at the white ribbon tied around his wrist. Though Kana would no longer be a part of his life, he could still remember how happy he had been when she was. He leaned back against the trunk. As he felt himself drifting off, he did his best to feel hopeful. Perhaps he would find another cone in the next tree he chose.

#

The river was the only constant sight on Shichi’s journey. He would stop long enough to drink, filling his moaning stomach with water. He had tightened the rope around his waist, focusing on moving as quickly as possible. It was on the third day he noticed a bush brimming with ripe wineberries. It was rare to see them this late in autumn, and he momentarily forgot himself as he eyed the red, plump clusters. The hunter was nowhere to be seen, Shichi’s stomach was on the verge of turning itself inside out, and it was unlikely he would get a chance like this again.

He knelt next to the bush, trying to keep his hands from shaking as he avoided the thorns. The berries came loose easily, dropping into the palm of his hand. He fought the urge to swallow them all at once, picking one up between his fingers and holding it up to his open beak. As his head lifted, he took notice of the old tree behind the bush. His eyes suddenly widened and the berries tumbled to the ground, forgotten as he gawked.

A knife had been jabbed into the trunk. He recognized the blade immediately—it was stained with dried blood, pinning a black, crooked wing to the bark. The entire limb had been torn free, with no trace of its owner to be seen. Beneath it, several characters had been carved haphazardly into the dry bark.

Don’t waste food.

Clasping a hand over his beak, he swallowed the nausea that had overtaken him. He backed away from the bush, breath short, staring in disbelief. He hadn’t lost the hunter at all. Zaisei had been watching him, precisely anticipating his movement. He knew that Shichi would come this way—he knew that the ripe fruit would be too tempting. He knew everything.

The crow had been doomed from the moment that Shichi had spoken to it. It had been just like him—hungry and alone. The thought of its death brought an unfamiliar emotion to his chest. Hints of rage were beginning to smolder in the back of his mind, turning his vision red and his throat raw. He pushed the feeling down, taking in a few gasps for air as he backed away from the tree. His eyes darted left and right, wondering if he was being watched at that very moment. As his back hit the trunk of a young tree, a sound broke the silence. It was a howl, keen and piercing as it overcame his senses. It echoed in his head, bouncing off the inside of his skull.

Something deep inside of him broke to the surface—an instinct to survive. Without thinking, he began to run.

He moved over dead grass and stone, his pulse pumping behind his eyes. The landscape lost form, merging to a blur. Thin branches cracked as he rushed past, barely noticing the stings and snaps of twigs on his limbs. He looked desperately for a tree thick enough to climb, but the surrounding trunks were woefully young. Another howl cut through the air—it was getting closer. Soon, he could hear the familiar rush of paws, the harsh breathing and clacks of teeth. The dog was right behind him.

This time, the beast’s jaws didn’t aim for his clothes. He could feel hot breath on the backs of his legs and, a moment later, the gnashing of fangs. The dog clamped onto his shin, dragging both of their bodies down to the cold ground. There was a thump as Shichi fell, scraping his palms over dead leaves and rock.

Shichi could feel the incisors digging into his flesh, tearing through muscle as they dragged him backward. Bracing himself, he knocked the dog aside with the end of his staff, scattering red droplets as the teeth released him. It shook its head, then attacked once more. Shichi scrambled to block with his staff, jerking back as the powerful jaws locked around the handle. The hound attempted to shake the weapon from his hands, but Shichi only tightened his grip, refusing to let go.

With a sharp turn of his shoulders, he forced the dog back once more, giving him a moment to stagger to his feet. A trail of warm blood ran down to his ankle. His injured leg sung with pain, protesting with each shift and step he made. He limped backward, keeping the shakujo in a defensive grip. The dog bristled, baring its red-stained teeth as it moved closer. A moment later, it sprung, throwing forward the weight of its entire body. The force of the lunge knocked Shichi off of his feet, his body tumbling as he dropped over the descending mountainside. They fell together, bruised by jutting stone and roots. The mountain cut off to a ledge overlooking the river, brazenly dumping their bodies into the clear water.

After a moment, Shichi’s head broke the surface. He dragged himself toward the shore, his chest heaving as he struggled for air. Blood continued to drain from his shin, staining the current with a stream of red. He wiped the water from his eyes. Wincing, he forced himself upright, preparing to run once again. It was only when he glanced backward that he realized he was no longer being chased.

The dog was lying in the river. Its body was halfway submerged, motionless and limp in the water. Shichi could only take one step away before he paused, looking back once more. Its head was below the surface—if left alone, it would surely drown.

Shichi would have liked to have plenty of time to mull over his decision—to weigh the pros and cons of his next action. Unfortunately, every second that went by brought the animal closer to death. Disregarding the potential consequences, he turned around, limping over the riverbank to its side. He knelt, gingerly lifting the dog from the current. Water dripped from its hide as he moved it, laying the beast along the dry shore with care. Fortunately, it was still breathing.

He moved quickly, knowing that the hunter would catch up to them at any moment. His hands felt gently over the matted fur for any injuries, and he noticed the odd angle of the dog’s front leg. It must have hit something hard as it fell. He took a closer look, making sure not to move the limb any more than necessary. It was fractured. In that moment, he forgot their relationship of hunter and prey. Now, the dog was his patient, and he would have to do whatever he could to help it.

Moving as fast as he could, he gathered a straight, firm sapling, as well as a length of brown vine. It was lucky that the dog was unconscious—fractures were quite painful, and it would most certainly have bitten him on contact. He set the splint on both sides of the leg, hurriedly wrapping the vine to secure it. Just as he tied the final knot, he could hear someone approaching from the forest. Zaisei must have finally found a way down the mountainside. Shichi hurried to his feet, moving as quickly as his wound would allow. By the time he crossed the river, the hunter burst forth from the tree line, panting as he called out.

“Bou!”

Zaisei dropped to his knees, pulling the dog’s head into his arms. “Bou. Bou, are you all right? I’m so sorry, I was right behind you.”

After a moment, the dog turned his head, wearily licking his master’s hand. The hunter laughed in relief, but his voice dropped when his eyes fell on the splint.

Shichi had slumped down behind a tree on the opposite side of the river, concealing himself in the shade of its branches. He had almost expected Zaisei to run immediately after him, but the dog’s injury had been enough to distract him from the chase. He listened as the hunter coddled his pet, feeling relief when it regained consciousness. The pleasant feeling, however, was instantly shattered by another shout.

“This changes nothing, demon! Are you listening to me?” Zaisei called out, his voice harsh with grit. “Nothing!”

Shichi looked away. He could no longer follow the river; it was too predictable. For the time being, he would have to forget his destination. Staying alive had become his priority, regardless of where the chase would lead him. Without looking back, he moved onward, disappearing into the shadows of the forest.