Part Three

The lands beyond the waterfall gradually lose definition, the farther you go. Rivers tangle into what might be a marshland or bog in the mortal world. Mounds of earth stand up from shallow puddles, tufts of soft grass standing up like mad hairstyles on otherwise bald heads.

The ground sunk under our feet, and our footprints filled with water. My tracks were plain from my smooth-soled gardening shoes. Yukari left marks as if her feet had been cast in plaster, round little dents for all five toes and deep depressions for the ball and heel of her foot.

We walked in silence for a time, Yukari two steps ahead of me. We didn’t wander too deeply into the swamp. Instead we stayed near the Saigyou Ayakashi, walking wide around its base to avoid climbing over the tallest roots. Out this far, stepping over the roots was no harder than hopping up onto my mistress’s patio. The roots were also wide and solid, like long islands.

My socks and shoes were squishy and wet, so I stood still on one of the roots as we were walking over it.

“My feet are already soaked,” I said. “There’s no point in meandering further, Yukari-sama. My mistress can find us anywhere in Hakugyokuro if she chooses to. So if we’re going to discuss anything in private, better to start sooner.”

Yukari took that as a cue that we had gone far enough. She stopped on the root, turned to face me.

“You’re right, this is a good spot.” She spread her arms out, as if displaying the Ayakashi to me. “Tell me, Youmu. Why is there a giant tree in Hakugyokuro?”

“I don’t believe it matters,” I said. “Why are there mountains surrounding Gensokyo? Why is there a lake at its heart? Why do people die, and why does the sun rise?”

“It matters,” she said. “We’re obligated to understand the world, even if we can’t change it. The examples you just listed all come from natural processes of the mortal world – but the rules are different here. In the ethereal realms like Hakugyokuro and Higan, the phenomena of nature represent spiritual truths.”

“So what does the tree represent?” I said. “Presumably, it’s immensity represents Yuyuko’s power as the ruler of Hakugyokuro.”

“You’re not wrong, but there’s a crucial point you’re missing. We older minds fall into that trap, where we fail to see the portrait for the sake of examining each drop of paint. A younger and simpler mind, like my dear little Chen, cuts to the heart of the matter more quickly. Remember the comment she made about the Ayakashi?”

I did, because it had irked me.

“Why would anyone name a dumb old tree, she said.”

“Yes.” Yukari craned her neck back, looking up at the highest of the barren branches above us. “Why does a tree symbolize Yuyuko’s power? Why not some more conventional representation of might? Imagine a mighty tower or a castle, like the stories of old feudal kings. Or maybe a mountain, covered with the residences of the recently deceased, and Yuyuko’s own home on the highest peak. That would more closely tie Hakugyokuro to Gensokyo, making mountains prominent in the topography of both countries. Why not a simple, immaterial beam of light, constantly shooting into the sky? That would convey the strength of a great spiritual being.”

“I’m certain that you’re leading to your own answer.”

“It’s simple,” said Yukari, “perhaps too simple for your sharpened wit to assume. The symbol of a cherry tree is important to Yuyuko personally – as a woman, not as the ruler of the netherworld.”

I said nothing, but gave her a slight shake of the head. I had taken pains never to pry into Yuyuko’s personal life before.

“I knew that woman,” Yukari went on, “before she died, I mean. She was nothing like the pink-headed maniac over there. To see her then, you’d never think of her as queen of the netherworld. She was a plain little slip of a girl. Not much to look upon, neither strong nor graceful. She would jump in terror if a mouse ever scurried across the kitchen floor. She was quiet and shy. She refused to speak to anyone she didn’t know. Yet for all that, her heart was more beautiful than any human I’ve met before or since. She loved her family dearly, and she loved to read. She always seemed to have a book in hand.”

Yukari looked back up to the tree. “Fiction was her solace from the anxieties of life. By her early adult years, she was still painfully shy, but was brave enough to venture outside alone. On the outskirts of town, there was a large cherry tree that stood alone in a field. When weather permitted, she would spend peaceful hours under that tree. Leaning back against its trunk while the wild grass swayed around her. Reading a good book, trying to memorize poems, and even singing them when she felt brave enough to hear her own voice.”

I listened, watching her face as she spoke. I didn’t disbelieve anything she said. Her eyes had the distant look of one remembering lifetimes past.

“That’s how I found her,” she continued. “I was wandering through my country, for Gensokyo’s beauty was still fresh to me then. I noticed the singing girl and hovered on a gap above her, so that she would sing without noticing me. Her voice wasn’t pleasant. It grated on the ears, out of tune with no practice in music. Yet something about her entranced me. A thing is most beautiful when unaware of itself, as she was. I remember my first thought upon seeing her. What was this girl doing out alone, away from the protection of other humans? Didn’t she know that wild youkai dwelt these fields? It was broad daylight so the risk wasn’t great, but I felt some concern. Those thoughts soon left me as I watched over her. I was....”

Her voice weakened into nothing. She sighed and looked down, her gaze tracing the Ayakashi’s trunk and the root down to her feet.

“I can’t explain,” she said. “Her song was over in a minute, and she sat in silence to read her book. I hovered for a while. Then I retreated into my gap and left her there. She never noticed me.”

“You didn’t say hello?” I said.

“Not that time, nor several times after. When the sun was shining, when it wasn’t too hot or cold, I’d check that cherry tree. I’d hover above her while she sat and read. Sometimes she’d fall asleep with me watching over her. I wanted to approach her, but I couldn’t work up the nerve to say anything. I wasn’t a social creature. I had relations with few youkai and zero humans. I didn’t want to scare her off, and I didn’t want to appear needy or weak myself. I had no idea how to break the ice.”

Yukari smiled in nostalgia. “As usually happens, the situation ended with someone making a mistake. One afternoon, she dozed off and left me to watch her sleep. I grew bored. Whether I was annoyed at her for not noticing me, or at myself for being too scared to be noticed, I was ready to fold into my gap and leave her. Before I left, I made a little noise of contempt.”

She hmphed, like a genteel lady showing disdain.

“I made that sound,” she said. “I made it too loudly, or the girl was close to waking. She stirred and opened her eyes, and saw me above her. For a girl who would jump at a spider on the wall, you can imagine how she reacted to a grand youkai sitting on a rent of nothing in the air. She told me afterwards that she thought I was a nightmare: some wicked goddess had come to torment her. ”

I had no business listening to any of this, but I’ll admit the guilty pleasure of hearing about Yuyuko’s old life. I’m not immune to all human indulgences, like gossip.

“Once she had calmed down,” said Yukari, “we began talking. I asked her about herself. She answered everything I asked, and quite a bit more besides. I soon realized she was telling me things she had hitherto kept absolutely secret. I thought that strange. Why would she confide the dirty details to me, and not her own parents? I later realized, she risked no judgment when speaking to me. I had lived much longer, and I knew the sickening things of life. Her sins and shames meant nothing to the evils I knew. I returned the favor for her too. I knew of great and wonderful things. She eagerly listened to my tales, just as I heard hers.”

“So you became friends,” I said. I insisted to myself that I felt no jealousy.

“She’s the first person I could ever call friend,” said Yukari. “I never made friends of humans, since they all die so quickly. Even youkai weren’t friends, but lesser beings that I bend to my will.”

“That’s a harsh way to refer to your shikigami, and hers,” I said.

Yukari chuckled softly, hm-hm. “I had no shikigami so long ago. Hopefully I’ve grown so that my relationship with Ran and Chen today is warmer than any youkai I knew back then. Yuyuko was the first, though. To me, she is both less and more than a friend. She’s my peer, like a long-lost part of myself.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said.

Yukari looked past me, eyes unfocused. “Language fails me here. When I knew Yuyuko as a mortal being, something in her moved me. I think it was her courage. She was so brave. I envied her.”

“No brave girl would jump on chairs at the sight of bugs and rodents.”

“Wouldn’t she? What if that same girl, after her initial shock, forced herself off the chair and went back to work? She could be mortally terrified of some harmless fuzzball, but still cook dinner for her family. What is courage if not the ability to function in the face of fear?”

I said nothing.

“I envied her weakness,” said Yukari. “She was thin and frail, and would break down crying if you scolded her, but that was her opportunity for strength. She labored alongside heartier women, and dried her tears after each scolding. In that way, she was stronger than I could ever hope to be. I felt compelled to study her, to learn about this bizarre dichotomy of strength born from weakness. We talked for hours under that cherry tree. Sometimes we would go for walks through the fields. I enjoyed imparting a feeling of freedom and safety to her, for she knew no beast or youkai could harm her in my presence. Even so, I wanted to show my friendship in some material way. I offered her gifts. I found her good clothes, hair ribbons, jewelry, scarlet rouge, other things. I thought a human woman might appreciate all that. She graciously accepted whatever I gave her, but I eventually realized she didn’t care about those gifts. What made her happiest was my company.”

“So,” I said, “if you knew her before she died, you must have known her when she died.”

“I did, but I wasn’t there when she passed. A few years after I met her, both her parents came down with some awful disease. I believe an injured fairy fell into a village well and contaminated their water supply. Several humans in that town died of magical maladies so gruesome that won’t describe the symptoms now. Sadly, Yuyuko’s parents were among the casualties.”

“But Yuyuko herself was unhurt?”

“She didn’t drink of the spoiled well, but she suffered no less than those who did. The loss of her family devastated her. There was no one to care for her, and she couldn’t totally provide for herself. I took her in so she didn’t want for food or shelter, but I couldn’t fill the void her parents left. Slowly, she overcame the worst of her grief, but she was never the same. She seemed...” Yukari paused, “...hollow is the best word, I suppose. Too rarely did I see her smile, and every smile was forced. Nothing gave her the same pleasure it once had. Reading a good book, conversations with me, or sitting under her favorite cherry tree on a sunny day.”

She looked over her shoulder, back at the Ayakashi. “That’s where she died, you know. In her sorrow, she took little care of herself. She ate too little, and was never a big girl to begin with. She lost weight and fell ill, but her failing body never stopped her from making daily trips to that stupid tree. That’s where I found her after she had stopped breathing. She died young, even by human standards. I have every reason to think the tree was her last sight as a mortal.”

---

We stood in silence for a minute. Yukari scowled at the Ayakashi, as if sizing up an enemy. Her description of mortal Yuyuko was totally alien to me. My mistress was a carefree and happy soul. She could always find some reason to smile, even during the worst of tragedies. That personality had caused me some hardship, but I wouldn’t have my mistress any different. To think that she had been different, as Yukari described her, was a difficult thought for me to process.

“You’re saying that’s the origin of the Saigyou Ayakashi?” I said.

Yukari nodded, looking back to me. “I mourned Yuyuko, but my grief was short-lived. Imagine my joy when I learned that she had become the ruler of Gensokyo’s netherworld. She retained no premortem memories, and seemed happier for it. She knew she was human, and that she had died, and that her mortal life had been a trial. She recalled no more, and she didn’t care to. I enjoyed introducing myself to her for the first time again. We quickly became as close as we had in Gensokyo.”

She waved a hand back at the tree. “All that, of course, came after the initial shock when I first visited. It disgusted me to see that she had brought that damned tree with her. I ignored my worry, for the tree was big and beautiful. It was blossomed fully, like a monument to life itself – but an age has passed, and what I had feared is now happening. The Ayakashi is withering. It’s an ugly sore on Hakugyokuro’s landscape.”

“Do you know why the Ayakashi is bare?” I said.

“Only educated guesses,” she said. “Maybe it’s grief Yuyuko feels for the human spirits who visit Hakugyokuro but refuse to be helped. Maybe it’s a subconscious memory of the pains she endured in mortal life. Maybe it’s some new hardship that has never told us, or that she herself is unaware of. Something is wrong, though. No doubt of that. The Ayakashi would be in full bloom otherwise.”

“I’m sure you’re telling me all this because you want to help her somehow,” I said. “We should confront her and discuss it openly. Conversation with loved ones is a potent therapy.”

“Don’t you think I’ve tried?” said Yukari. “I’ve had sixteen times your age to talk with her. I’ve reasoned, cajoled, coaxed, yelled, shouted, pleaded, screamed, cried, begged. Every time it’s the same. She doesn’t know what I’m talking about. She would do better if it made me happy, but she has no idea what she’s supposed to do. I had given up.”

“Too soon to give up,” I said. “You haven’t had my help yet.”

Yukari beamed with the brightest smile I had yet seen on her face.

“You’re right,” she said. “I had given up, but upon visiting today, I’m thinking better of it. One young half-ghost might solve the problem I’ve beat my head against for centuries.”

“Again you mention my race. What does that have to do with this?”

“Everything,” she said. “Come with me.”

Yukari turned again, facing the Ayakashi, and began walking up the root. It was gentle upward slope of wooden ground that would take us to the base of the trunk.

I winced at the feeling of my toes squishing in my soaked shoes, but I followed.

---

Yukari walked more quickly than she had when we first strolled out here. It emphasized her height above mine, as I had to walk a step and a half to keep up with each of her strides.

“Humans in Gensokyo have a word for what I have in mind,” Yukari said as we went. “They call it an intervention. A man may make himself sick indulging in too much drink or smoke. He may want to stop, but his addiction is too strong for his own broken will to overcome. If he’s lucky, his loved ones will step in.”

“You couldn’t forcibly take the Ayakashi from her,” I said. “Aside from earning her ire, you’d simply fail. The ruler of the netherworld isn’t to be trifled with.”

Yukari looked back at me. Her eyes burned with indigo flame.

“Neither am I.”

That silenced me. I hadn’t admitted it to myself before now, but a hard truth hit home. Yukari could kill me.

“I know Yuyuko’s might, for I am her equal.” Yukari kept walking, and the light faded from her eyes. “Her power supersedes mine while in the netherworld, so I can’t wrest the tree from her directly – but Hakugyokuro and Gensokyo are inextricably bound to each other. By changing my own country, I can indirectly change Yuyuko’s country.”

We neared the Ayakashi’s base. The root had risen and widened, so that the swampy ground was now a house’s height below us. We couldn’t walk much farther. Shortly ahead, the swampy basin ended. The ground took a sharp incline to form the plateau upon which the Ayakashi stood. We could go no further up without climbing the trunk.

Here Yukari stopped. She craned her neck back, looking straight up to the tree’s bare canopy. Seeing those bony branches stand against the sky, so high up and far away, gave me a sense of vertigo.

“I will intervene,” said Yukari. “It will hurt me. Any intervention hurts the family as much as it hurts the addict, but that makes it no less necessary. The family has strength in numbers on its side.” She looked to me. “It’s always easier with help.”

“Tell me what you plan,” I said. “I’ll decide if I should help you.”

“Rightly so,” she said. “As you could guess, my powers are limited in Hakugyokuro. The wild energy of Gensokyo doesn’t naturally come here, but it can be brought here with some effort and some trickery. If a tremendous amount of the mortal world’s magic is forced into the Ayakashi, I can exert my control over that magic and destroy the tree from within. Rather like prying a house apart board by board with only a crowbar. It’s difficult, time-consuming and labor-intensive, but it is possible.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” I said. “I’m not a magician, but even I know that the magic of Gensokyo isn’t the same kind as the magic of Hakugyokuro. Your metaphor would have to include a ghost demolishing the house. He couldn’t even begin because he can’t affect physical objects.”

Yukari used both hands to point two index fingers at me: one at my body, the other at my ghost.

“That’s where you come in, my dear gardener. Your dual nature may allow you to change magical energy from mortal to ethereal.”

My heart thumped hard once. Breath caught in my throat. I swallowed.

“I have no idea how to do that,” I said.

Yukari nodded, then she whipped one hand at the air as if she meant to swat a bug. To my surprise, her hand caught on something. The air itself seemed to resist her grasp, but she was stronger. She pulled down, ripping open a black streak of nothingness. She had just opened a gap. I stepped back, wanting to be nowhere near the hole she had just torn into empty space.

“One moment,” she said. “I need something from my house.”

She reached into the gap, sticking in her arm almost to the shoulder. She rummaged around, like a bear trying to paw honey out of a beehive. Then her face lit with a smile.

“Here it is,” she said, pulling her arm from the gap. It shut behind her. A little pop sounded from the air snapping back into place. “Look at this, Youmu.”

In one hand, she held up a wooden carving of a bird. It seemed shaped in the likeness of a dove, but was smaller than one. It fit in Yukari’s palm.

“Where did that come from?” I said.

“My atelier,” Yukari held it out to me. “Here. Hold it.”

I didn’t sense any threat from a piece of woodcraft, so I took it in both hands. I turned it over to see it from all sides. The workmanship was excellent. The wood was a dark, rich color. Its carved feathers, eyes and beak had been shaped with a finer tool than I had ever seen. Its legs were tucked up against its underside, as if resting in a nest.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, “but why show me this?”

“It’s a magical artifact,” said Yukari, “the Ayashi Tori. Like Lavatein I mentioned over dinner.”

I had to think to recall those two words.

“And why is it called that?” I said.

“Do you know the old language?” Yukari asked.

“Not fluently. Only some common words, from what I retain of my lessons long ago.”

“Few people speak the old language anymore, so I have a nickname for it. I call it President Strangebird.”

I looked up at her. “You call it what?”

She smiled. “It’s an in-joke of mine. More important is the bird’s function. Hold it up to the sky.”

Still holding the carving in both hands, I held it above my head as far as my arms would stretch. The Ayakashi’s bare branches were a distant background.

“Is something supposed to happen?” I said, feeling the blood falling from my arms.

“You have to speak the pass-phrase to activate it,” said Yukari, “but I’m afraid you’ll laugh.”

“Doubtful.”

“Good! Then here goes.” She took a deep breath and shouted, “Vote for Strangebird!”

---

Enough was enough. Yukari was toying with me. I would have given her a polite scolding, but I was distracted by the odd sensation of a wooden carving standing up in my hands.

Its sharp talons gripped the skin of my palms. Its feathers ruffled and its wings flexed. I let out a yelp and dropped the bird. Even in my surprise, I regretted letting go of it. It would fall to the Ayakashi’s hard bark and shatter, or at least come away scuffed and nicked. It would bounce off the root and fall to the watery earth below.

Yet none of that happened. Halfway between my hands and the root, the carving took flight. It beat its wings and flew off just as a bird would when released from its cage. It disappeared against the darkened sky.

Yukari cupped her hands around her mouth and called, “Come back, President!”

I heard the flap of wings, then saw the bird glide back to us. It flew to Yukari and perched on her shoulder, beating its wings to balance before folding them behind its back.

“Please forgive Youmu, Mister President,” said Yukari. “She doesn’t know any better. She will learn to treat you with respect.”

The carving’s head twitched to the side, just as a living a bird would. It stood on Yukari’s shoulder, looking down its beak at me. I stared back at it, my mouth hanging open.

“Is that thing alive?” I said.

The carving beat its wings at me once. Yukari put a hand before it, calming it.

“Be polite, Youmu,” she said. “Yes, it’s alive, just like any other youkai. The only difference is that I weaved its energies into a living being myself, rather than most youkai who emerge from Gensokyo’s magic naturally.”

“And how does this relate to bringing your power from Gensokyo to here?”

“President Strangebird is the tool you’ll use to accomplish that. Conveniently enough, it’s prepared to demonstrate. Hold up your arm like this.” She held a fist before her breast, putting her forearm out as one would expect of a trainer of hawks or falcons.

I kept my arms at my sides. Doing as she said hadn’t led to any good so far this evening.

“Forgive me for not trusting any contraption you crafted,” I said.

The wooden bird beat its wings again. It lifted off Yukari’s shoulder and flapped over to me. I shied away from it, but it moved faster. It settled atop my head, gripping one talon into my hair and the other on my bow.

Yukari laughed. “The president wants to be your friend!”

I tensed all over. My fists bunched into balls. I felt the urge to whack the carved bird away, but I didn’t want to touch it.

“Please get it off me,” I said.

“Relax, Youmu. The president won’t hurt you. The two of you must work together to save Yuyuko. Show her, President, so she may understand.”

I reached up, ready to rip the wooden creature off my scalp. It would peck my fingers and tear out locks of my hair, but that seemed a fair price to be rid of it. My hands lost momentum on their way up. Suddenly, I felt as if I had held my breath for two straight minutes, lightheaded and dizzy. A shock of warmth pounded down through my head, and flooded down through my body after it. My vision filled with bloody red patches. My skin grew numb.

“Easy!” said Yukari. “Be careful with her, President. Don’t force it all at once. Let her get used to it first.”

Warmth went deeper than my flesh. Pinpricks of power, pleasure, pain and anxiety pierced my heart all at once. I might have stumbled backward and landed on my rear, had Yukari not put a hand on my shoulder to steady me.

Slowly, my sight cleared, as if a pressure on my eyes had been lifted. I could feel myself again, though my legs were weak and barely held me upright.

“Sorry about that,” said Yukari. “The president was fully loaded with seasonal energy from Gensokyo. I shouldn’t have let it discharge all at once.”

I stepped back, so that I pulled Yukari’s hand off my shoulder. My chest heaved as I caught my breath.

“What- what happened happened? What did this bird do to me?”

“See for yourself.” Yukari put her fingers to my cheekbone, gently pushed to turn my head around.

I saw my ghost, and I gasped.

My spirit had been floating nearby this whole time, her face likely showing the weird agony I had just suffered. Now she showed only surprise, mimicking how I felt.

My ghost was glowing, emitting a dusty rose color. It was the brightest light nearby, illuminating the root and we on it like a sparklamp. The light hurt my eyes at first, after being adjusted to the evening’s darkness.

“Good heavens,” I said.

“I didn’t expect your ghost half to glow,” said Yukari, “but I suppose it makes sense. Congratulations, Youmu. You’ve just changed your first batch of magic from mortal to immortal. You’re full of energy that can affect the netherworld.”

“How?” I said. “Why? What should I do?”

“We’ve spent all night answering those questions, silly. Can you consciously move your ghost?”

“Yes,” I said, trying hard to keep my breathing even. “I can’t send it far from my body, but I can control them both alike.”

I held up a hand. My ghost mirrored the gesture.

“Good,” Yukari whispered. “Then touch your ghost to the tree. That should complete the transfer.”

I was eager feel normal again, so I did as she said. My ghost lowered until its feet touched the bark of the root. The difference was immediate. The warm buzzing power fell out of me, like water from a sink when the drain is pulled. The pink glow emptied from my ghost, absorbed into the Ayakashi’s root, and the light faded into nothing. We were left in dark once again.

“Perfect,” said Yukari. “It works just like I’d hoped.”

“Nothing happened,” I said. “The magic is gone.”

“The Ayakashi is big, Youmu. That much power was like pouring a bucket of water into a canyon. If you refill that cup again and again, eventually....” Her voice trailed off. She gasped, looking up at the bare branch canopy. She pointed to the sky. “Look! Up there!”

I bent my neck back I looked up to where she pointed. I squinted, but nighttime was upon us.

“I can’t see anything,” I said.

“Oh, yes. Human eyes. Let’s get up close, shall we?”

“Get up close to—whaagh!”

I made that noise with good reason. Yukari knelt down, wrapped one arm around both my thighs, and hefted me over her shoulder like a sack of rice. Her shoulder pressed into my belly. I saw the ground behind her.

“What are you— put me down!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t drop you.”

Yukari took two quick steps forward, then began jogging up the root. She ran toward the steep slope that lead up the Ayakashi’s trunk. I bounced along on her shoulder, which repeatedly punched the air out of me.

“Where we going?” I said. Then I let out another noise, “Aa-eeeeee!”

Where the root became too steep to walk, Yukari jumped up it, like a supernormal mountain goat. She easily cleared a dozen feet per jump, going from ledge to ledge of the root’s bark. Her grip on me was firm. She wouldn’t drop me, but I still held on to her with every muscle in my body. Her hair whipped at my face as we ascended, getting in my mouth and forcing my eyes closed. If I looked, I would have seen the ground rapidly retreat below us.