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The shrine was empty.
It has been for a while now. Aya kicked back onto the leaf-littered porch and propped her handbag on her lap, rummaging through its contents for the prize stored within: a sake flask painted in gold and black lacquer. It had been a gift from the boss that she had never found the opportunity for until now. She poured out two cups – one for herself and the other to set aside.
For a quiet stretch of time, Aya swirled the ceramic dish, savoring the elegant floral scent as the rising sun cast its rays over the mist of paradise.
Eventually, she found the words she had been meaning to say.
“What a mess, huh? It’s only been several years since you’ve left, and Gensokyo already feels like it’s falling apart.”
Aya did a customary pause for a reply that never came. She sampled the sake. It had a light, fruity impression with a subtle acidic hint that made up the refreshing and graceful body. A harmonious flavor profile for sophisticated individuals. The perfect drink for a business meeting. Aya had to admit, as much as she had complained about the boss, the old crow had immaculate taste. She was quick to take another sip.
“Youkai are getting rowdier. Attacks keep cropping up in the village outskirts, some of them in the day even. Whole swaths of farmland have been abandoned, and get this: talk’s been going around that the boss and the other chiefs are planning to muscle in and replace you with one of their own. Can you believe that? A tengu Hakurei? We’d be better tearing down the walls of the village and replacing them with dinner bells.”
“That’s not even the end of it. Mima’s locked herself away in that hideout of hers – plotting something disastrous, no doubt. The vampire has left Gensokyo, and I mean fully left. Out of the barrier, gone. She’d rather take her chances out there than in here, I guess. And, heh, you know what the Yakumos have to say about all this? Nothing! No one’s heard from them! Not even me.”
Aya sighed into her cup. “I got drunk in a bar with Ibuki the other night, and she was ready to roll some heads. She couldn’t wait for the real fighting to start, was even talking about leading the oni back to the surface. I couldn’t tell whether she was joking or not, so I just laughed and asked her to spare me when the time came.”
Bright lights and noisy patrons. The stench of cheap sake on Ibuki’s breath. Aya struggled to recall the memory in more detail.
“I… think she said yes? But it was so slurred it might as well have been anything. She did, uh, also mention wanting to keep me in a little cage so she could make me dance for strips of meat she would shove between the bars, which might have been related to what she said earlier. So, yeah, I think she’d spare me. I’m too good-looking to die, after all.”
“Wish I could’ve said the same about you.”
Aya drained her cup in a single gulp. She considered pouring the second one out for the Hakurei, but that felt like a terrible waste of good alcohol, so down the hatch it went. The wrong hatch. Stinging fluid flooded her windpipe before upchucking into her sinuses and out her nose, doubling her over in wretched agony. It didn’t take long to spill the last of her precious drink onto the ground, along with saliva and a profuse amount of snot.
The star reporter of the independent Bunbunmaru Newspaper slouched there. A mess of herself.
“D-damn it, Reisa,” she croaked, reaching into her handbag. “You just had to get another shot in. Urggh, shit.”
Aya blew her nose into a handkerchief and did her best to tidy herself up with what surface area remained. Unfortunately, she hadn’t come here on an off day to reminiscence. No, the people of Gensokyo needed a reliable news source now more than ever, and who was Aya to deny the denizens what they wanted? Especially when such desires could be leveraged for rent money. She stood up, fiddled with her bowtie, plucked her suspender belts, smoothed her hair, adjusted her cap, and boom! Star reporter once more, complete with an award-winning smile that hasn’t actually won any awards but it will one day for sure.
Before she could depart, however, the winds brought an unusual smell to her attention. It was rice – specifically rice cooked with salt and butter. Anyone having breakfast on the east side of nowhere would have been strange enough, but the smell actually wafted out from behind her, inside the dilapidated shrine. Curious about what could be a side column in the making, Aya tugged on the sliding door. The thing immediately fell out of its frame and collapsed inwards.
“Oh, wow,” Aya mumbled once the dust settled.
It was worse than she had thought. Muddy prints crisscrossed the faded shrine floor. Furniture was either missing entirely or strewn and broken in search for valuables. Graffiti peppered the peeling walls. Most were fairly innocuous, with playful declarations of trespassing alongside young couples expressing their short-sighted dedication to one another. The others were much meaner in nature and often boiled down to calling the Hakurei some variation of prostitute or condemning her to Hell. Or both.
So far as Aya knew, everyone went to Hell. Also, the Hakurei never charged, so the more accurate term for her would’ve been “slut”. Did these vandals not know a thing about- Oh, wait. No, they were calling her that too.
Well, the tengu didn’t understand the attitude either way. Perhaps they were just upset that they never had a chance at the Hakurei. Aya knew that she would be upset. A night with Reisa was a phenomenal way to unwind after a brutal day’s work – if you could first find where she was crashing and endure the following morning’s many aches and pangs.
Such a thing was best attempted before an off day.
Aya snapped a few photographs of the scene to print for later in spite of her nostalgia. Now, to answer the rice question. She could smell its delicious grains stronger than ever – in fact, this room was definitely its source. But where exactly? There wasn’t much space to hide a pot of rice here, much less the equipment or the ingredients to properly prepare it. If someone had settled down for a meal and then somehow, someway, immediately vacated the premises along with everything they had brought upon sensing Aya, the wind would’ve given it away. Movement displaces air and the rice would’ve left a scent trail to follow, but there were no such indications. So, unless the perpetrator was the Wind God herself, the “DERANGED hooligan caught eating RICE at the abandoned HAKUREI SHRINE” headline would have to be put to rest – at least for now.
The more she thought about it, the less room there was for doubt. This brain-twisting scenario had to be the work of barriers. Aya wasn’t skilled or knowledgeable in the scholarly magics, but she had dealt with their practitioners over the years enough to get a sense of the games they played. One possible explanation for the discrepancy between nose and eyes was that she was standing on the seam of a duplex barrier, a device capable of separating two versions of a select space whilst allowing them to coexist layered atop each other. If the dilapidated shrine was the space presented on the outside, then the concealed, other space must be where the aroma was wafting in from. The seam, be it intentionally placed or designed to randomly appear, was where the remaining connections between the separated spaces lingered. This allowed important things like light or air to pass through, but it could also serve as an entryway or exit for the barrier caster.
Aya intended to exploit this. She began to walk in circles, starting at the edge of the room and slowly making her way to the center while waving a hand through the air. What she needed to find was a loose thread in the stitching – a puff of air, localized change in temperature, static shock – anything she could latch onto. Forcing the barrier open from there should be easy enough.
Around and around she went, picking herself carefully around pieces of furniture, prying for the lead to her next story.
Her middle and ring finger snagged on something. Aya stumbled to a halt and looked back over her outstretched arm. Her two fingers… They had been cut off at the second joint. She flexed them experimentally, and she could feel the missing digits move on the other side of the barrier. The atmosphere there felt much warmer. While this wasn’t the thread she had been anticipating, Aya welcomed it all the same. She braced her wrist with her free hand, curled her swallowed fingers, and began to pull.
Now, young folk nowadays may not know this about her, but Aya had been quite the powerhouse back in her time. Oh, yes! The charismatic and dashing journalist, humble Shameimaru, was once a delinquent crow. So totally assured she had been in her strength that she had fancied herself something akin to an enlightened being. It was a rather embarrassing mindset to have in hindsight, but despite the harsh weathering her ego had endured over the years, she maintained confidence in her ability to lift.
Slowly, with substantial effort, Aya peeled the barrier’s membrane back, revealing a glimpse of its swirling black innards. The wider opening allowed Aya to sink both hands in and better grip the metaphysical. An intense tingling and paralysis ran up her arms, as if she had just dipped her limbs into a live current, but she overcame it. With a flourish, she tore the curtains of reality wide open.
The barrier’s offal surged in a dark tidal wave, sweeping Aya off her feet. Gravity vanished. The senses became disjointed and nonsensical. In this directionless void, Aya was seen. Dozens and dozens of unblinking eyes swirled around and through her – pricking, needling, attempting to deconstruct her particle structure into something digestible.
It hurt.
It failed.
At last, the barrier spat her out. Aya smacked her chin against the floor, snapping her tongue in a bear trap of teeth. The exquisite pain folded her into a trembling ball, and she huddled there, cradling her jaw and groaning into her hand, blind to the world and all its myriad problems.
Not her smoothest entrance, but at least nobody had been around to see it this time. The embarrassment would just kill her.
“Uhm, excuse me. What are you doing in my room?”
The reporter’s survival instincts kicked in. She swallowed the spit pooling in the interior of her cheek and flew upright. She straightened her cap, fixed her collar, took a deep breath, and spun around with a smile. The words leaped from her mouth before she even really knew who she was talking to.
“Tengu reporter of the independent Bunbunmaru Newspaper, Aya Shameimaru! May I borrow your time for a quick interview, Miss, uh…?”
It was a girl. A human girl, no older than nine or ten, with shoulder-length brown hair tousled by sleep and mellow eyes that regarded Aya with vague interest. In any other context, Aya could’ve easily written the girl off as just another ragamuffin from the village. She certainly looked the part, albeit with nicer clothes and not nearly as strong of an odor, but everything from the shape of her nose to the contours of her jaw painted a strikingly familiar image.
There was the shrine as well. Revitalized, refurnished, rebuilt – it was in better shape than Aya had ever seen. She darted over to the small kitchen in the back and confirmed the presence of running water and electrical appliances. She zipped back to the living room and peeked under the kotatsu. An electric heater, just as she suspected. The human girl’s legs were there, too.
“Hey, where did you—”
The girl yelped and scooted away. Aya had plucked a grain of rice from her cheek before flicking it back into the bowl on the table. She then dusted off the girl’s shoulders, tied her hair into a bun to show off more of her face, and took a dozen or so photos of her and the revamped shrine.
“Ahh! Stop moving around so much! And don’t take pictures, I’m not even dressed!”
The girl made a grab for the camera, but Aya intercepted the lunge with a firm handshake. She pulled her in and spoke enthusiastically.
“Can I just say that it’s such a pleasure to meet the new Hakurei! I’ll admit, I didn’t think Touwa had it in him at first – or that Reisa was pregnant. But if you’re here, then, well, who cares about what I thought? Now, onto the first question. Could you give yourself a concise introduction for the paper?”
The Hakurei stammered nonsense for a bit, clearly nervous at the prospect of being included in one of the most renowned news outlets in all of Gensokyo. She had Aya’s sympathy and unyielding patience.
“W-well, my name is Reimu, and I like—”
“Wonderful, next question!” Aya produced a notepad and pen from her bag and began recording the conversation. “What’s your opinion on the current socioeconomic-political climate of Gensokyo?”
“What? I didn’t- I don’t know??”
“Scathing indifference! The readers are going to eat you alive for that, but between you and me, I get it. Why even bother at this point? It would be easier to let everything burn to the ground and start fresh from the ashes!”
Aya punctuated her sentence with a dramatic flair of the pen, the motion of which Reimu followed intensely. “I understand that as the Hakurei you are undoubtedly very busy and value your time, so I won’t keep you for much longer. One more inquiry is all I’ll ask.”
Reimu’s mouth, which had been hanging open for most of the interview, widened slightly. Aya’s cue. She launched into the final question.
“Do you have any plans on continuing the bloodline, and if so, when and with whom?”
A stillness overcame Reimu, locking her expression in unflattering bewilderment. She didn’t say anything. She was hardly breathing. Aya’s crafted smile faltered for a moment – was the Hakurei okay? Humans were prone to spontaneously dropping dead from all manner of inconveniences, but Reimu seemed a little too young for that to be likely. Perhaps the question had been harder on her spongy, developing brain than Aya had anticipated.
Luckily, Reimu didn’t linger in stupor for long. Her brow knit. Her gaze sharpened into a razor point directed squarely at the reporter. Gone was the previous air of confusion, replaced by the rising tension of a silent accusation, which, at its peak, climaxed into the very audible accusation of:
“Are you a pervert?”
The four words brought Aya crashing down from her lofty heights.
“Why does everyone- I’m not a pervert! I’m an entrepreneur! A journalist respected in her field by real people everywhere! Just ask them, they’ll tell you the same thing!”
Reimu looked Aya up and down.
“You have pointy ears and wear boobstraps. I think you’re a pervert.”
“They’re called suspenders,” Aya hissed. “A perfectly decent article of clothing that serves the very practical purpose of keeping my pants on.”
“You have trouble keeping your pants on…?”
Oh, this was bad. Aya was actually considering causing a scene over this. She needed to focus. Journalists didn’t cause scenes; they recorded them with a tasteful touch of embellishment. She had her story. That was the only thing she really needed. Now, to preserve her reputation by closing the interview on as much of a high note as possible.
The tengu feigned a cough into her elbow, giving her just enough cover to work the smile back onto her face.
“Well! It’s been a pleasure, Miss Hakurei, but I’ve taken enough of your time. I’ll be sure to deliver a copy of the paper as soon as they start printing, free of charge, as a token of my appreciation.”
“No thank you,” Reimu said.
Aya continued as if she hadn’t heard her. “I’ll get out of your hair now. Enjoy your breakfast!”
Now for a hasty retreat. Duplex barriers weren’t meant to keep people inside, so all Aya had to do to leave was to fly out the door, leaving the dilapidated shrine far behind her. She did a sweep of the Human Village out of habit, blowing past the unsuspecting Sentinels, whose numbers have been steadily increasing to account for the rise in emboldened youkai. There was nothing immediately noteworthy here, so Aya detoured past wild reds and greens to arrive at one of many personally designated rest stops: a quiet brook shaded by bamboo.
The tengu let out the breath she had been holding. She set her bag aside and stooped down to splash water on her face but paused upon catching her reflection. There she was, that pretty and handsome reporter (call it “pretty handsome”). Although… were the shadows beneath her eyes always that prominent? And her hair, it was getting long again. She would need to schedule a visit with her barber before it got difficult to manage when flying.
Work truly had no end.
Aya removed her cap and spent some time obsessively preening her bangs before giving up and dunking her head into the stream, the cold water a refreshing shock to her system. When she pulled out and her reflection settled, she appraised herself once more. Wet black tendrils framed dark eyes. Creepy. She slicked her hair back into a vague mullet look, and hey, that wasn’t so bad! A shame it wouldn’t last once the wind ran through it.
Oh, yes, she had to get moving again. The shocking discovery of the new Hakurei made for a good headline story, but that hardly constituted a complete newspaper. She needed updates on the local events and businesses. What was the weather forecast? Has anyone memorable died recently? How good is the new restaurant that opened downtown? And so on and so forth, because people couldn’t be expected to function if they didn’t know exactly what was happening at all times in every corner of their narrow, narrow little world.
How gracious of Aya to provide this service for basically free.
The reporter took off. She cut through the Bamboo Forest, past the Human Village, skirting Misty Lake before beginning her spiraling ascent up Youkai Mountain. Yatsugatake’s peak was the perfect place to get a read on the atmosphere. The wind up there traveled far, and while its voice was faint, Aya had good ears and a notepad. After all, who better to consult for the weather report than the weather itself?
It was a trip Aya had made thousands of times over. It should’ve been smooth sailing, so she didn’t believe she could be held accountable for what happened next. Put anybody else in her shoes; not one of them could predict the sudden, startling appearance of Yakumo Yukari where there was once a clear shot between the trees. No one could blame Aya Shameimaru, a name synonymous with excellent journalism and skillful flying, for crashing face-first into the Sage of Gensokyo, sending them both into an uncontrolled tumble down the mountainside. If anything, they should feel sorry for the old bird. What did Aya, a hard-working, honest crow who only ever wanted to provide the needy masses with a reliable news source, do to deserve this? What horrible crime did she commit to warrant getting her clothes torn on brambles, her back bounced off tree roots, and her face dragged through leaf litter? Sure, she was kind of a prick back in her youth. She’d give them that. But honestly, who wasn’t a bit of an asshole in their early twenties to first two centuries? It certainly didn’t call for her immediate execution. Far from it.
So why was it that…
…she couldn’t catch a single damn break today?
Aya was hurled off a sheer drop. She fell a long way before crashing into a stony riverbank. A loud splash sounded nearby. If the reporter had to guess, she was in the Untrodden Valley, all the way at the base of the mountain. Wonderful! What else could go wrong?
Oh, wait.
Aya snapped upright and quickly checked her belongings. Hat? Secured. What about her bag? Thankfully, it was still attached. She spent a moment rummaging, confirming the presence and integrity of her camera and sake bottle. The crow relaxed with a sigh. She needed to thank that purple librarian for the enchantment. The cushioning that the extra storage space provided has been a real lifesaver—
“Oh crap, Yukari!” Aya blurted.
There was a splotch of something purple and blonde snagged around a boulder further downstream. Aya vanished from her spot and reappeared with the waterlogged sage cradled in her arms.
“Yukari, are you okay? Hey, stay with me!”
Aya shook her. Nothing. She laid Yukari down before brushing her soaked bangs back. The sage’s eyes had totally rolled into the back of her head. Also, she wasn’t breathing.
This was bad news. Normally, Aya didn’t mind covering bad news. It was excellent for business - people love reading about the horrible things happening in the world around them. But this was bad news she had a direct hand in making. She could see the headlines now: “Aya Shameimaru, esteemed reporter of the Bunbunmaru Newspaper, murdered the last Sage of Gensokyo in a freak flying accident! Gensokyo devolves into chaos as its last pillar of leadership crumbles! Resulting power struggle destroys everything, and it’s all Aya’s fault!”
The reporter swallowed the lump in her throat.
There was one way.
A way to ensure that nobody found out about this, because there would be nothing to discover.
Shameimaru loomed over the fallen sage.
“Forgive me for this transgression,” she muttered darkly.
Deft hands unbuttoned Yukari’s nightgown. The sage may be a youkai, but her anatomy looked human enough. Aya was counting on it. She centered her palms, one atop the other, on Yukari’s chest. Compressions should be around two inches in depth if Aya remembered correctly. Let the chest rise between each push. Next, pinch the nose shut and tilt the head back before performing rescue breaths. Aya alternated between the two techniques in a focused rhythm until at last, with a sputtering cough and a terrific upchuck of water, Yukari lived again.
…
…
…
“I am so, so sorry, Missus Yakumo,” Aya said as she swiftly buttoned Yukari’s nightgown up. “I- I didn’t mean to bowl you over like that, honest! It’s just, well…”
What Aya wanted to say was that there hadn’t been a gap. No dark slit cutting through the air, no threading of ribbons, no opening of eyes – one moment there had been nothing, and the very next instance, the Sage of Gensokyo. Aya didn’t know it was even possible for Yukari to get around like that.
Another wet sniffle. The poor thing shivered where she sat. Aya suddenly remembered her manners and hurriedly rummaged through her bag, producing a clean handkerchief to delicately wipe Yukari’s face. Then, the tengu stood up and shrugged her coat off to wrap it around the sage.
“Thank you, Shameimaru,” Yukari said, smiling faintly. She managed a little laugh. “Goodness! This must be quite the detour from your usual route. You have my apologies for that. I was in quite the rush, you see; I just had to find you.”
“Is that so…?”
Aya considered loudly announcing that she was running late to an important press conference and must depart. Whenever Yukari needed to see her, it was usually because Yukari wanted something from her, and that almost always spelled trouble. But where could Aya flee to that wasn’t within the sage’s grasp? Yukari made this place. She forged this birdcage called Gensokyo. It was pointless to try and slip the bars.
Besides, there was something else about Yukari that compelled Aya to stay. The sage clearly had meant it when she said she was in a hurry – no makeup, pajamas… She had prominent bags under the eyes, too. Aging was supposed to be an organic design. The minute breakdown of the cells shouldn’t affect youkai, yet Aya could say for certain that Yukari had aged. She appeared a woman in her early to mid-forties now, when back then, she had been the stunning picture of a young adult. Of course, Aya’s inner lovebird thought her current look to still be quite fetching.
Maybe that was intentional. Maybe Yukari selectively chose an older appearance to get people to lower their guard around her. Maybe she let herself be run over to inspire Aya’s pity. Maybe this was all an elaborate ruse to ensnare the reporter in a trap she couldn’t possibly escape.
But what if it wasn’t?
What if Yukari was tired like how Aya was tired? What if the increasing oppressiveness of the Outside World and the steady dwindling of Gensokyo weathered the last sage as it did everyone else? It would be an awful thing then to abandon an elderly woman like this, all shivering and alone. No, Aya’s pride as an upstanding individual wouldn’t allow it. In a world where everything felt like it was falling apart, basic decency was the only thing worth striving for!
The reporter neatly folded the dirtied handkerchief and stowed it deep inside her bag next to the other. She sat herself beside Yukari and slung an arm around her shoulder.
“Oh, well, it can’t be helped,” Aya bemoaned dramatically. “Since we’re already here, I can make room in my busy schedule. So, what can I do for you?”
“You saw her, didn’t you?”
“Eh?”
Aya tried to withdraw her arm, but the cold, spidery touch of Yukari’s fingers on her elbow froze the crow stiff.
“Reisa’s daughter, I mean,” the sage clarified. “You trespassed on the barrier.”
“D-did I now…?”
Crap, that was right. How could Aya forget? Duplex barriers were cast by sorcerers to conceal! And if Yukari were the caster, then that meant Aya had stumbled upon something that wasn’t meant for anyone to see, much less her humble self.
If fleeing had been futile before, it was definitely pointless now. Aya closed her eyes and made peace – she had lived a good, long life, and had many regrets. It was time to go now.
“Okay. I understand, Missus Yakumo,” Aya said, pulling herself away. “But!” She held a finger up to Yukari’s face, who blinked at the intrusion. “Before you assassinate me, I must ask that you do it quickly and painlessly. I’m allergic to agony, you see, and I really don’t want to wake up screaming at the Higan. It’ll leave a bad first impression.”
“Shameimaru, you—”
“Secondly!” Aya went on. “In the second left drawer of my writing desk is a copy of my will, detailing the distribution of the Bunbunmaru’s assets and my personal belongings to those named within.”
“Shameimaru…” Yukari groaned.
“Also, I’m thinking sky burial, but save my bones. Don’t let the crows start dropping them off high places to get to the marrow; I need my skeleton cremated. I want my ashes mailed to Megumu’s office in a vase, and I want that vase labeled ‘From Aya’. It’s very important that this is how she discovers I’ve died, okay? So everything else before then has to be kept discreet so she doesn’t find out. In fact, we should go somewhere that isn’t this out in the open before you finish me off. How about—”
“Shameimaru Aya.”
An icy claw sealed the crow’s flapping mouth. Aya briefly wondered if she was going to taste anything before her head inevitably disintegrated, but the sage released her.
“Goodness gracious, Aya,” Yukari said, “what has gotten into you? What makes you think I’m here to carry out a murder plot?”
“I, uh…”
Aya coughed and adjusted her bow tie.
“I can see that I may have read a little too hard into things here. We’re good friends after all, yes? Real… long time acquaintances.”
“Of course,” Yukari replied, a touch of exasperation in her tone.
Aya nodded enthusiastically. “Of course!” she echoed. “Yes, that’s great. I love being friends with you. I’d hate for that to end just because I’m dead.”
“As would I.”
“Then all is forgiven? We can just write the little mishap with the barrier off as an honest mistake and carry on?”
“That is the general idea, yes,” Yukari said.
The crow clapped her palms together. “Great!” She straightened herself up, plucked her suspenders, and flashed her best smile. “I’m glad we got that sorted. And honestly, I get it. The alarm goes off! Someone has intruded on the young Hakurei’s private domicile! It could’ve been anyone, and you had to verify for yourself. The future of Gensokyo rests on that girl’s shoulders, after all.”
Aya took the sage’s hand and easily lifted her to her feet. “I’ll be seeing you then. Got a whole day of work ahead of me, I’m sure you understand.”
“About that.” Yukari’s grip tightened ever so slightly. “There’s a small favor I’d like to ask before you go.”
If it’s not too much…
…please don’t mention the Hakurei in the Bunbunmaru.
The words rang through Aya’s ear like a case of tinnitus. Did Yukari just ask her to abandon her headline? But one that good could keep the crow fed for weeks! Besides, Gensokyo was starved for positive news, and the existence of Reisa’s secret daughter could be just the thing it needed. It would, at the very least, slow the descent into chaos if the populace had something to grab onto on the way down. Aya could be the one to extend that branch. She could be the one to save Gensokyo from itself! She, modest Shameimaru, could be an honest-to-goodness savior!
All she had to do was hold her ground against a Sage of Gensokyo.
“I made a promise,” Yukari said, “to Reisa before she passed.”
Resolve crumbled to resignation. The sage held up Aya’s hand – she did not look at the reporter. Her violet gaze, half-hidden under damp strands of twisted blonde, rested on the way her thumb cradled in Aya’s palm. The tengu realized then how much taller she stood over the woman. Had Yukari always appeared this shrunken? Did her bones always feel this close to her skin? Yukari had known Reisa. She had known her more than any other Hakurei.
Maybe… Maybe Aya should hear her out first before anything else.
“She asked me to take care of the girl. Those were her last words: ‘Please take care of her.’ She didn’t even have time to name her child before she went. I had to do that.”
Yukari squeezed Aya’s palm and looked up at her. That smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Reimu isn’t ready yet, Shameimaru. I tried to teach her how to be the Hakurei, but I… I was too personal in my approach. She needs more time to learn on her own. When she is ready, you may reveal her. But until then, she must remain invisible for her own safety. Do you understand?”
Pale sun cascaded into the valley, stoking the colors of autumn into a blaze. The two stood among falling leaves, their conversation swallowed by the river’s quarreling rapids. Aya’s lips parted. She spoke.
“Good,” Yukari said. She let the crow go. “I’m glad.”
“That makes one of us at least,” Aya muttered, removing her cap to better massage the headache out of her scalp. “Now, if you'll please excuse me, Missus Yakumo, I have a lot of ground to cover and a headline to mourn if I want to make up this crippling deficit.”
“Aya, dear, don’t be like that…”
“We’re all entitled to our grief,” Aya replied stubbornly.
“Is the Bunbunmaru not doing so well, then?”
Aya flinched. “I- I wouldn’t put it like that exactly. We’re actually more popular than ever! It’s just that to get the leg up on my competitors, I kind of, sort of, have to charge at a slight profit. Admittedly, it's not even that sometimes – but we’re still in the green! And it’ll stay that way so long as I’m first to the big stories.”
“Goodness,” Yukari said, putting a hand over her mouth in an appalling display of concern. “I wasn’t aware you were struggling so much. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Again, not struggling! Me and my business are incredibly well-adjusted.” Aya smoothed her hair and fixed her cap as proof. She flashed a smile. “However, no self-respecting journalist could pass up on an opportunity like this. Would you let me borrow your time for a quick interview as the Sage of Gensokyo, Missus Yakumo?”
“Why, I’d be delighted to. It’s been a while since we last caught up.”
Yukari stooped to draw a black line through the air with her finger. The seam shivered before bursting open, red ribbons threading the gateway to a cozily cluttered cabin kitchen. A pot of coffee was already hot on the stove, its aroma an intoxicating lure for the morning bird.
Yukari gestured inside. “Will you be staying for breakfast as well?”
“That depends,” Aya said with a cheeky wink. “Is ‘Missus Yakumo’ cooking?”
The old sage laughed, and oh, what a glorious feeling it was to bring joy to the elderly.
“Aya, you rascal! Of course she is!”