Chapter Twenty-Seven Violet
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Violet
The relic cuts into the blue light. It hovers in the air for a single moment and then, like a floating flower finally submerged, sinks into the box.
It descends gracefully, slowly, magically.
At the same time, a series of bangs punctuates the air.
The relic goes gently, even surrounded by chaos.
The bangs are mechanical, loud, unrelenting.
The shadow hands gather together. They mount into the air above me. I cower, covering my head with my hands, feeling like, at any moment, they’re going to descend and vaporize me.
Then, suddenly, they disappear. The red light does, too. The glow of Akira’s lanterns returns, along with the tranquil sounds of the koi splashing in the basin and the crane’s wings flapping through the air. It’s like I’m sheltered, even as the terrible, violent sounds penetrate from outside.
I rush to the window and look out. Akira’s shadow over the camp—it’s receding. The red spikes of lightning become smaller and smaller.
“Akira! Wake up!” I hurry to his side and shake his arm. He blinks at me. “I’ve given you an offering.”
Akira’s hand comes up to his face; then he rushes to the mirror, Oda dropping out of the way.
I watch as the crack ringing his face begins to fill with new, radiant flesh.
Then it’s gone. Akira dashes to the box.
The relic I made floats up to the top, where it gently bobs. He plucks it up. “You made this.”
“I did. It worked, right? Please tell me it worked.”
Akira stares at it, and when he looks at me, his eyes are misty with tears.
For an immortal who claims not to know human emotions, he suddenly seems as mortal as me, as possessed by grief, hope, and everything in between.
“You’ve given me a most astounding offering, clever mortal girl.
I think…I think if I just add this, it shall be enough. I shall be free.”
Slowly, as though he almost doesn’t dare to hope, he removes Ren’s fox from around his neck. He holds it over the box with the icon I made. Then he drops them inside.
A zing runs through me.
One pure, wordless note resounds in my ears. It’s soprano—a note that’s shockingly human yet so clear and crisp, I think it must be an angel. Goose bumps rise and fall on my flesh, making me aware of every inch of my skin.
Looking around, I almost cry out. Everything in Akira’s barrack is as it was, but for the first time in my life, I see.
Not with my eyes, but beyond. Oda, the koi fish, the bonsai trees, the tapestries—I know their truest essence, and it’s glorious.
I know their most important characteristics, the truth of what makes them what they are, and it is glorious.
The sensation builds. I feel Oda’s honorable peace embedded in the heart of every samurai.
I hear the delightful gurgle of bubbles from the koi fish and feel the sublime fluidity of water passing through their inner chambers.
I see every shiny, feathery leaf on the bonsai trees, every intricate layer of cork bark, every tentacled and tangled root coiled in the dirt.
In my hand, the deer stares at me. Its gaze holds pure knowledge, as though it sees all and accepts all and knows all. I never want to let it go.
A crow of triumphant laughter fills my ears. It’s Akira, but his voice has changed. It’s airy and whistly and has the pure sine wave of a flute. Wind rushes around me and playfully tousles my hair.
I am Nameless, Faceless. I am fleet foot, fire spirit, fearsome foe! No more sleeping in this horrid bed. No more sleeping, ever. No more wearing skin and a cage of bones. No more eating human swill. I shall present myself to the creator gods and beg their forgiveness and I shall…I shall go home.
I am free.
“Akira-sama?” I ask. I hold out my hands and wind rushes through them, streaming through my fingers and pushing my hair back from my face.
It’s like standing in the power and might of a wave as it crests and thunders through you.
The wind spins tighter and tighter around me, but it’s tender and playful.
It doesn’t slash or claw. It soothes and whispers.
Kansha shimasu, Violet Aratani, he says.
You have helped a god. You served an immortal, just as your family did generations ago.
Centuries from now, I shall remember your face, just as you gave me a face to be worshipped by.
Serve me. Make icons of me so I may be remembered, and I may be venerated.
And, when you are ready, ask your divine favor of me, and it shall be granted.
The wind wraps silkily around me and winds around my legs like a cat. I think I shall miss you.
“I’ll miss you, too, Akira-sama,” I whisper.
The wind whips up again. It dashes about the barrack and encircles Akira’s treasures.
The basin with the koi fish, which joyfully twitch their whiskers.
Oda, who nods fiercely at me as he whirls past within the mirror.
The bonsai trees, the tapestries, the screens.
Then, in one tremendous roar, it disappears into the box.
The lid snaps shut. The box disappears. Only a metal cot and straw tick mattress remain. I hear one final parting from Akira—
Tell Ren everything is hunky-dory.
And I know it in the depths of my soul—Akira is free.
Akira is gone.