Book II 十三 Part 13 (Kuzu)

Illustration by K. Ryan

“Pedicel — a stem holding a flower cluster,” Shichi said, reciting from memory as he followed Sagiri through the trees. “Taproot — the main root, growing straight into the ground.”

“Is there a reason you’re adding noise to an otherwise pleasant walk?” Sagiri asked, not bothering to look back at her student. They were moving at an even pace through the woods, already a considerable distance from Kurohane. A brief winter gust ruffled their feathers, flapping the hems of their traveling coats. Shichi glanced at the back of her head sheepishly.

“I’m sorry. I’m just a little nervous.”

“It is only an exam,” Sagiri said, following the narrow path past a rock ledge. “The first of many.”

“Many?” Shichi asked, faltering over a protruding root. His heart thumped as he caught his balance, wondering if his master had noticed.

“You are 16. Believe it or not, there is much more for you to learn.”

Shichi looked away, watching the trees as they moved. She was right — this was his first time being so far from Kurohane and it was barely a two-day journey. Though he had heard stories about the western temple, he had never seen it with his own eyes.

“Is Senba Temple larger than Kurohane?”

“It is.”

“Did you come here for the herb exam, too?” he asked, hoping she wouldn’t mind his prying.

“I did.”

“Which herb do you think it will be this time?”

“I do not have to think,” Sagiri said, momentarily closing her eyes. “I know.”

“Ah, then I suppose you can’t tell me.”

“You suppose correctly.”

“Well, it’s winter,” Shichi said, now back to thinking out loud. “That rules out quite a few. Licorice is always in need, but that’s harvested in autumn. This is a good month to find kuzu root, though. It seems to be all over this mountain.”

“Interesting theory,” Sagiri said, her tone difficult to read.

“Am I right?”

“You’ll have to wait and see.”

“Don’t worry,” Shichi said, his expression warm in spite of the frigid air. “I’ll make you proud.”

Sagiri said nothing, only offering her student a subtle glance. For a moment, Shichi could have sworn there was something in her eyes — something she wanted to say. Before he could think too deeply on it, she looked away.

Senba was indeed larger than Kurohane. The temple was properly nestled into the mountainside, each structure hugging the rising curves of rock. A stone staircase wound up to a tiered pagoda, towering over the grounds below. Monks of various ages and ranks went about their business, some cleaning while others held a discussion in the courtyard. Upon the arrival of Sagiri and her student, however, every head turned their way. It seemed his master had quite the reputation at Senba.

“Sagiri, welcome,” said a senior monk as they reached the main building. Her attention shifted to the boy at Sagiri’s side. “And this must be your apprentice.”

“My name is Shichi,” he explained, exchanging bows with the older woman. “Thank you for having us.”

She nodded in response, then returned her attention to Sagiri.

“The head monk has been waiting for you. She’d like to have a word.”

“Of course,” she replied, placing her coat and a pack of supplies in her ward’s arms. “Shichi, take these to our room. I’ll meet you shortly.”

The boy nodded, watching as the two monks headed up the stairs to the main hall. It was a grand structure, its roof casting a long winter shadow across the courtyard. Tall wooden doors shut behind them, allowing the other monks to return to their duties. Shichi looked back over his shoulder, shifting the bundle in his arms. His task was simple enough. Unfortunately, he had no idea where their room was supposed to be.

He made his way carefully through the courtyard, not wanting to disturb the profound discussion of the elder monks. The cold air stung his bare hands. Though they were quite high in the mountains, snow had not yet fallen on the temple grounds. The sky was heavy with clouds, threatening to change that fact quite soon.

A brief curiosity crossed his mind, making him wonder just what the head monk wanted with his master. Was it something important, or a mere chat? Shichi shook the thought — it was none of his business.

As he passed through a covered walkway in search of the monks’ quarters, a noise caught his attention. It was a coarse sound, much like the grinding of herbs. He stopped in place, unable to help but glance towards the source. Through a set of open doors, he could see the temple kitchen. Great stone blocks lay in rows, providing surfaces for iron pots and steamers. A stack of kindling rested against the wall, ready for burning. The room was empty but for one figure — a girl his own age.

The young monk was seated on a ledge, her knees hugging a large bowl. Her brow was furrowed in concentration as she ground into the bowl with a pestle. After a moment, she let out a huff, lowering the tool to rub her aching shoulder. It was then the girl realized she was being watched.

 “C-can I help you?” the monk asked, blinking at the stranger in the doorway.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” Shichi said, only then realizing he’d been staring. “I was looking for the guest quarters.”

“Oh, just keep going straight. It’s on the left, past the big tree.”

“Thank you,” Shichi said, yet remained in place. Though any other monk might have paid no mind to the contents of the bowl, Shichi, as an herbalist, found himself terribly curious. He was certain he knew the scent, recognizing it from his own kitchen tasks at Kurohane.

“Are you grinding sesame?” he asked.

“Yes. They wanted to prepare a lot of gomadofu for the visiting monks’ meals — because of the herb exam,” she replied, then tilted her head. “Is that what you’re here for?”

Shichi nodded, hiding his pleasure at correctly guessing. “I’ll be taking the exam this afternoon.”

“Oh, so will I.”

“Shouldn’t you be preparing?”

“My master gave me extra work this week,” she explained, halfheartedly gazing into the bowl. “I… I made a stupid mistake, so this is my punishment.”

“I make stupid mistakes, too. Last month I tripped on the stairs and dropped an entire sack of rice.”

The girl snorted, then clamped a hand over her beak.

“It’s all right, you can laugh,” Shichi said with a shrug. “My master made me pick up every grain with a pair of chopsticks.”

“Sounds like fun,” she said, her posture relaxing. “Um, my name is Satomi.”

“I’m Shichi,” he said, setting the traveling supplies down on a keg. “Would you like some help? So you can get ready in time.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” he replied, finding another bowl on a shelf of supplies.

“Thank you. It would be nice if I could prepare for the exam,” Satomi said, going back to grinding with the pestle. “Though I’ll probably ruin it anyhow.”

“Don’t worry, it’s just to check our progress,” Shichi said, sitting beside her. He wondered why the girl’s master would carry out a punishment now, right before an important assessment. No matter how strict Sagiri was, she knew how to prioritize his tasks. Of lessons, discipline, and chores — study always came first.

“I don’t know,” Satomi replied, grunting as she put her weight into the task. “I’ve failed my master so many times. I think he might dismiss me if I ruin this, as well.”

“That can’t be true.”

“You’ve obviously never met him,” she said with a heavy sigh. “I don’t know what I’ll do if I have to leave. My village doesn’t exist anymore.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” Shichi said, his brow drawn back.

“I hope you’re right.”

It was mid-afternoon when the two met again, seated alongside four other students in the lecture hall. On a long bamboo mat lay sets of utensils and prepared herbs. Shichi could feel his palms prickling in anticipation — though it may have been a leftover sensation from grinding sesame for an hour. The sight of herbal tools made him forget the arduous journey to Senba and the ache in his shoulders. Though he had only been studying for a few years, he had studied hard. He could do this.

“Good afternoon, students,” said the elder standing before them. His impassive eyes ran from one pupil to the next, sizing up each monk’s attentiveness and posture. From the way Satomi shrunk beneath his glare, it was clear he was her master. Against the wall, Shichi could see Sagiri and the other mentors observing the proceedings.

“I am the head physician at Senba and will be guiding you through your exam. Many of you have traveled quite a distance to be here,” he said, letting his eyes linger on his own apprentice. “While others have had a more leisurely itinerary.”

Satomi cast her eyes downwards, her feathers rising in embarrassment.

“You may have noticed the materials on the mat before you. Does anyone recognize the formula?”

“Kakkon-to,” Satomi said, finally looking upwards.

“Did I call on you?”

Her head immediately dropped again.

“Anyone else?” he asked. Understandably, no one spoke.

“You,” the physician said, his glare set on Shichi. “Sagiri’s student.”

Shichi swallowed.

“Tell us. What do you see?” the monk asked, folding both hands behind his back.

“Satomi was correct,” Shichi answered, his pulse jittering. “It is kakkon-to. But—“

“But?”

“But one ingredient is missing.”

“Astute,” the monk said, his eyes narrowing. “And what ingredient might that be?”

“Kuzu.”

“The stem? The leaves? Which—“

“Kuzu root,” Shichi said, his eyes locked forward. If he weren’t so occupied with his own anxiety, he might have noticed Sagiri radiating smugness at the back of the physician’s head. The man straightened his posture, giving Shichi a nod.

“That is correct, though I hope your master will refresh your memory on the discourtesy of interrupting.”

Shichi dared a glance at Sagiri, who only gave an apathetic shake of her head.

The boy was stunned. He had always considered his master the epitome of discipline, yet she seemed like an errant slouch next to the head physician. It was no wonder Satomi was terrified of failure.

 “As you all know, it is winter,” he continued, beginning an even pace past the students. “It is the season for colds and kakkon-to is quite useful in treating the early stages. For your exam, you will be gathering kuzu to aid in the preparation.”

Shichi’s eyes widened. A hint of triumph sprouted in his chest — and in his chest it would stay. He kept his eyes forward, avoiding eye contact lest Sagiri notice the hint of pride in his features.

“For some of you, this may be your first time attempting the examination. To keep the results evenhanded, those who are familiar with the surrounding mountainside will be expected to gather a fairer share.”

Satomi closed her eyes, rubbing her sore knuckles beneath her sleeves. Once more, it seemed she had been burdened with high expectations.

“You will have until sunset to gather your roots,” he explained. “You will skin and cut them in the morning and will be judged on your technique and efficiency. You may receive no assistance from your mentors, nor from the other students. Am I understood?”

Each student lowered their head, speaking in unison. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good,” the monk said, gesturing to the door. “You may start.”

The woods outside the temple seemed colder than before. Shichi barely noticed his feathers rising against the chill, thinking only of the trowel in one hand and the knife at his belt. The other young monks were similarly equipped, each parting in different directions to search for roots.

“If you go past that slope—“ Satomi began, but stopped when Shichi waved his hand.

“No assistance, remember?” he said pleasantly, to which the girl laughed.

“Your master must love you,” she said as she departed to the west. Shichi watched her go, tilting his head at her words.

“I don’t think…“ he started, trailing off when he realized she was out of earshot. Everyone else had already started. Not wanting to fall behind, he turned in the opposite direction.

“Shichi,” came Sagiri’s voice from the gate.

He paused, glancing back to see his mentor approaching from the temple’s entrance. There was a bundle in her hands.

“The temperature has dropped considerably,” she said, handing him a thick coat.

“But I can’t—“

“This isn’t assistance, it’s a jacket. Now put it on and go.”

“Yes, Master,” he said, quickly tugging the coat on. He gave one last look at her, his eyes gleaming with gratitude, before hurrying off. She folded her hands into her sleeves, watching as he disappeared into the dormant woods. It was only a moment before a shiver forced its way up her back.

“Do your best,” she murmured, then turned to go back inside.

 The mountainside surrounding Senba was, of course, different from home. He had only been at Kurohane for a few years, but was already familiar with the hidden crevices and curves of the forest. Here, every stump and rock was completely new. He supposed it was just as well — it wouldn’t be much of an exam if it were easy.

In the summertime, kuzu could cover the ground, growing up rock faces, trees, and anything else their roots might grip. Their leaves were broad and green, covered in a thin layer of fuzz that Shichi found unpalatable. In the winter, however, they shriveled to coarse, brown vines. They remained coiled around the landscape, draping from branches like sleeping spiderwebs.

He continued east, noticing the ground had become crisscrossed with vine stalks. Shichi craned his neck, his eyes trailing over the trees above. Sure enough, strands of languid kuzu clung to the boughs above. He thought of Sagiri’s lesson on the plant from the summer before, recalling her description of the root crowns. Crouching, he ran his palm along a thick length of vine, feeling for a node.

“Ah,” he said, stopping at a bud. “There you are.”

As he lifted his trowel, a drifting speck caught his attention. Shichi looked up once more, realizing it was snowing. The flakes settled gently on the forest floor, leaving spots of white over his coat. He shuddered against the cold, tugging the coat closer before turning his attention back to the root. Hopefully this one wouldn’t be too big.

By the time Shichi returned to the temple, the snow had left a crisp layer of white over the earth. He had tucked his trowel into his belt, needing both hands to carry the bundle of roots he had gathered. One old root had been particularly long, its end nearly touching the ground as he walked. It was fortunate he had extracted them quickly — the snow was sure to be an obstacle for anyone searching now.

Eager to see the other students’ finds, he hurried to the storehouse. Oddly, the only one standing by the entrance was Sagiri.

“Master,” he said, glancing from one side to another. “Where are the other students?”

“They should be along shortly. Let’s see what you found,” she said, leading him inside the wooden storehouse.

“The first vine was young and the roots were too close to the surface. I remembered what you said about the deep ones having the most starch,” he said, laying his collection onto a low table. “I went as far as I could before the ground got too hard.”

Sagiri nodded, holding up the oldest root to get a better look at the length. She turned it in her hands, examining the diameter and texture.

“There was a larger one, but I didn’t think I could carry it,” Shichi admitted, dusting the dirt from his hands.

 “These will do,” she said, setting it back down. “Store them for tomorrow.”

Shichi nodded, gathering the bundle into a cloth. Before he could tie them with straw rope, Sagiri cleared her throat. He paused, looking up at her expectantly. It was then he realized she was looking at the storehouse floor.

“What are—“ he began, the realized what she was looking at. “Oh, rat droppings.”

His eyes drifted from the floor to his bundle, then back to the floor.

“I’d better put these in a box.”

“Perhaps,” she said, folding her hands behind her back as she turned to leave. “Wash up, then sleep. You’ll need your energy for tomorrow.”

“Yes, Master,” he said, already dragging a wooden case out from under a table. He wasn’t quite sure if rats would want to eat the bitter roots, but this wasn’t the time to take chances.

An hour passed before Satomi made her way through the front gate of the temple. She shifted the load of roots in her arms, searching the temple grounds for the head physician.

“Master,” she said, finally locating him in the infirmary. “I’m finished.”

The monk made no effort to look up from his writing, continuing his strokes under the glow of a lamp.

“It took you quite a while,” he said, inking his brush.

“It started snowing — it was quite cold. I tried to—“

“No excuses. Put them in storage,” he said, his eyes half-lidded. “And be quick about it.”

“Yes, Master,” she said, bowing before hurrying out of the room. Satomi scurried through the courtyard, her shoes leaving prints in the snow. Once in the storeroom, she wrapped her bundle in cloth and set it on a shelf. As she counted the other collections, she was relieved to see she wasn’t the last one to arrive. The girl gave the shelves one last look before leaving the storeroom. Hopefully the head physician would find her roots acceptable in the morning.

Shichi awoke before the morning bell, too excited to return to his bed. Sitting perfectly still during the morning meditation had never been so challenging —  the anticipation had left him jittery and light in the chest. By the time the students gathered their collections and met in the lecture hall, he was ready to burst. Sagiri rarely, if ever, praised his work. If he could show her he was capable here, perhaps she would see him in a new light.

“Good morning, students,” the head physician said, standing tall as he addressed the young monks. On the floor were sets of water buckets, scrub brushes, and heavy knives. It seemed their labors were far from over.

“Lay out your roots for inspection. If they are suitable, you will continue to the next step of the examination. If not, your testing ends here.”

Shichi’s fingers tingled as he placed them on the lid of his box. He had done his best while harvesting and his fastidious master had approved of the roots he had found. The head physician seemed difficult to please, but surely he would find them passable. Upon opening the box, however, Shichi’s hands froze.

He stared down for a moment, forgetting to breathe.

Every root had been destroyed — stripped and gnawed, leaving only a tangle of fibers and sap. They had been devoured by rats.

“The diameter is rather thin, but these are acceptable,” the physician said, scrutinizing another student’s roots with both hands. The young tengu exhaled.

Shichi screwed his eyes shut. Perhaps he hadn’t gotten enough sleep — maybe it was a trick of the mind, of delirium. When he looked down again, he realized the simple truth. They were ruined.

It didn’t make sense. The box had been perfectly latched, showing no signs or falling of being left open. Shichi turned it to look for a hole or signs of gnawing, barely noticing as the physician moved closer down the line. Shichi swallowed. The box was in perfect condition.

“How odd. I didn’t expect you to find one this large,” came the monk’s voice from the left. “Well done, Satomi.”

Slowly, Shichi turned to look. His eyes caught the root in the physician’s hands as he handed it back to the girl. Shichi’s next breath caught halfway down his throat, choking him with disbelief. That root — the long, heavy root he had strained to dig out, that he had carried back to the temple — the root that was thicker than his fist with perfect rings of brown running up the side. It was his.

Satomi had his roots.

Just as Shichi’s mouth opened, the girl glanced sideways at him. Her eyes were tight and pained, begging without words for him to remain silent. He stared at her, wishing the boiling feeling would stop in his chest.

“Did you intend to present your findings?” came a voice from above. Shichi tore his eyes from the girl, looking once more at the ravaged contents of his box.

“I—“ he stammered. He could feel Sagiri’s eyes and looked up to meet them. There was an unsettling intention in her stare as she waited for him to respond. She knew — she had to have known. For a moment he searched her expression, looking for guidance. He found nothing in her eyes, making him realize he was on his own. Whatever happened next was up to him.

“My roots were…” he started, then trailed off. Satomi had switched them. She had seemed so kind before — so honest. He thought of why she would do such a thing, of what might posses a monk to steal. Day-old words ran through his mind — the head physician’s disdain for his own pupil, the fear she had addressed him with. She had been anxious about falling short — about being dismissed. Shichi was certain a student could not be cast out for failing a simple test. She most definitely would, however, for stealing.

He had waited so long for this day. The chance to see a new temple, to meet other monks, to prove himself — it had all felt like a dream. Now it seemed he was waking up. Finding the courage, he looked at Satomi once more. She hadn’t turned away, watching for his response with glassy eyes. She was waiting. The entire room was waiting.

Shichi took in a slow breath, then spoke.

“My roots were eaten by rats. I failed to store them properly.”

A few of the students began murmuring but quickly stopped with a glare from the physician.

“I see,” he said, shaking his head. “It seems your training has been ineffective. Return your tools — you may leave.”

Shichi lowered his head, unable to look at his master. Whatever emotion was on her face, whether it be shame, anger, or disappointment — he couldn’t bear to see it.

“I’m sorry,” he said, then closed his box with a click.

The snow was falling harder than the day before. Shichi stood silently in the court, clutching the box to his chest as he watched the flakes. He had left the lecture hall without looking back. Once outside, he could only make it halfway across the courtyard before his feet would no longer move. They felt heavy — every part of him was heavy. He gazed down at the box in his hands, remembering the man’s words.

Well done, Satomi.

She had gained her master’s approval. Shichi had been so fixated on Sagiri, wanting to to earn her regard, to prove he wasn’t wasting her time. Perhaps it wasn’t necessary.

Perhaps Satomi was the one who needed it more.

“Shichi,” came a voice from behind him. It seemed Sagiri had followed him out.

“Master,” he said, slowly turning to face her.

“Why did that girl have your roots?” she asked, tone even.

Shichi was quiet for a moment, mulling over his words. The physician had referred to him specifically — Sagiri’s student. He had been representing his mentor and had failed in front of everyone. He had shamed not only himself, but the both of them. Snow continued to fall between the two monks, a brilliant white against the black of their feathers.

“Was it important to you?” he finally asked. “That I pass?”

Sagiri watched him for a while. She had seen him dejected before. This, however, was different. In his face, she could see disappointment, but not one trace — not even the slightest hint of regret.

Before she could speak, the crunching of snow announced a third figure in the courtyard.

“Sagiri,” the monk said with a bow of her head. “The head monk wishes to speak with you again.”

“I need a moment.”

“I apologize, but it’s urgent.”

Sagiri let out a short breath, the air clouding in front of her. “Very well.”

Shichi watched her leave, once more speculating on what could be so important. Even more so, however, he wondered just what his master had intended to say.

“It’s about your pupil,” the head monk said once Sagiri had arrived in the main hall. She was twice Sagiri’s age, her feathers coarse and her beak a faded gray.

Sagiri kept her eyes forward, keeping her voice steady. “I can assure you his performance was—“

“It isn’t concerning the exam,” she interrupted. “It’s what we spoke of — yesterday.”

“The vision?” Sagiri said, her brow knitting. “I already told you—“

“I had another dream last night. If that boy is to remain your disciple, I’m certain a terrible misfortune will befall Kurohane.”

“It was a dream and only a dream,” she replied, her back stiffening. “I will not expel my student on such baseless grounds.”

“I heard he failed the assessment, as well,” the old monk said.

“I thought this wasn’t concerning the exam.”

“It seems, in spite of your training, he has poor skills,” she said, slowly shaking her head. “Surely you can find a more proficient student. Perhaps it would be best for everyone if he returned to his village.”

“No,” Sagiri spat, momentarily forgetting her place. There was a flame in her voice, one the head monk had not heard from Sagiri in decades.

“Sagiri, be reasonable.”

“There is extraordinary potential in this child. Potential beyond you, or I, or Kurohane. I will do everything in my power to guide him there, whether your visions are real or not.”

“If you won’t cooperate, we’ll have to remove him on—“

“Try,” Sagiri said, her eyes narrowing. “If you are willing to lose me, as well.”

The hall was silent for a minute, both women barely breathing as Sagiri’s threat hung in the air. Finally, the head monk sighed.

“You were always stubborn, Sagiri,” she said, closing her eyes. “Do as you wish.”

“If that is all, we’ll be on our way,” Sagiri said, giving the old woman a curt bow before turning to leave.

“Don’t forget,” she replied as the door drifted shut. “I warned you.”

Once outside, Sagiri unclenched her hands. She sucked in a chestful of winter air, allowing it to cool her senses. As she descended the stairs, she noticed her pupil across the courtyard, standing in the same spot she had left him. He was, however, no longer alone. It was the girl, the head physician’s student — Satomi.

Though Sagiri could not hear their conversation, the girl’s body language was quite clear. Her hands were clasped, gripping tightly as she offered a deep bow. Shichi shook his head, clearly having trouble finding words. Finally, he spoke. The girl straightened herself, staring at him before making a soft reply.

It was then that Shichi noticed his master outside the main hall. Satomi stiffened at the sight of her, ducking her head and hurrying back into the lecture hall. Sagiri’s approach was slow, giving the girl plenty of time to escape unscathed.

“Were they angry?” Shichi asked once she was at his side.

“It was nothing to concern yourself over.”

“I’m sorry, Master,” he said, lowering his head to hide the guilt in his eyes. “I promise I’ll do better next time.”

“No Shichi,” Sagiri said, her eyes drifting back towards the lecture hall. “You did just fine today.”