As a wasp, I was able to slip through the slender crevice alongside the boulder and leave the cave. It had been so long since I had tasted fresh air. It was fragrant and seemingly boundless. Glad to be alive, I soared freely through the sky, deliriously happy. But a long journey lay ahead, I reminded myself, and slowed down to survey my surroundings.
Just as Izanami had said, a deep, jade-coloured sea stretched in front of the entrance to the Realm of the Dead. Rough waves rolled ashore one after another. I flew up and down the coast in search of a ship. But the only vessels moored along the nearby beach were small fishing boats. I couldn’t afford to waste my time there, so I flew south where I hoped to find a larger port. Along the way I spotted a ripe melon that had fallen to the ground and split open. I stopped and ate greedily.
Now that I was a wasp, I had no idea of my lifespan, but in whatever time was allotted to me, I had to get home, to the Island of Sea Snakes. I had to find Mahito and Yayoi. I was too anxious to dawdle over eating. I didn’t even have time to rest.
I flew for three days and three nights. On the morning of the fourth day I finally reached a large harbour far to the south of Yomotsuhira-saka. Exhausted, I landed on a tree trunk and surveyed the ships, searching for one that might sail towards the familiar chain of islands. I spotted one unloading white shells. It was a large vessel with white sails, large enough to hold more than thirty men. I’d never seen a ship like that near my island. Half-naked men were unloading huge crates filled with shellfish – wide-mouth conch, giant spider conch, and green turban shells, with their iridescent inner layers. The crates were so large it took a number of men to lift one. I was reminded of home. The shell of the wide-mouth conch was bright white and the meat inside thick and juicy. The only way to collect one was to dive to the ocean floor where it burrowed into the sand. The women on my island, who had trained themselves to hold their breath for a long time, would collect them and bring them to shore, as would the men who had been out to sea, fishing.
I had heard that the wide-mouth conch was used in fashioning bracelets and necklaces, but no one on my island took part in shell craft, and I had never seen them. Mostly the shell was used for barter, and as soon as the men on the island had collected enough, they filled their ships with them and traded them for something else. I concluded that if I boarded the ship I had seen in the harbour, it would probably take me close to my island chain. I flew as quietly as I could towards it and fastened myself to the mast.
The following morning the ship set sail. I hid in the shadows of the cargo hold below so that I would not be blown away by the strong winds. Occasionally I would rest on the gunwales. Days went by and I had nothing to eat or drink.
‘Hey, it’s a yellow jacket! Kill it!’
Suddenly an oar came at me. I flew up in a panic and hovered over the surface of the ocean. My throat was parched so I flitted to the cask of drinking water.
‘We’ve never had a yellow jacket aboard ship before.’
The sailors pointed at me, surprised that I did not fly off.
‘Looks like it’s got somewhere to go!’
There was a jokester among them.
‘Well, if it stings you, you’ll die. I’m going to kill it if it comes back.’
The man with the oar stood ready. For the first time I realised how dangerous humans were to a wasp. An older man, dressed in white, came over from the front of the ship to settle the crew down. ‘That wasp might be a good-luck charm. If it comes back, leave it alone.’
Relieved, I flew back to the ship, which made the men laugh.
‘That wasp understands us. If you promise not to sting anyone, you can ride with us. Fly in a circle if you agree.’
I flew in a circle. The sailors erupted in applause, then looked at one another, amazed. The man who had tried to kill me with the oar pointed at me. ‘It might be our guardian deity for the voyage.’
I rested alongside the water cask and drank the water that the sailors spilt. Or I flew into the ship’s pantry and preyed on the smaller insects there. Yellow jackets eat more than the nectar from flowers.
How many days and nights passed while I was aboard ship? Two weeks? More. The longer we sailed the ocean, the weaker I grew. Much longer and I would have died en route. I’d have had to return to the Realm of the Dead before I reached the island. I wanted to avoid that.
Two or three times strong winds buffeted the ship, and I was nearly blown out to sea as I struggled to fly below deck. Each time it happened the ship made for a small port, a group of islands or somewhere it could ride out the storm. If no port or inlet were to be found, the ship was tossed mercilessly on the high seas. My passage was anything but uneventful. I worried constantly: would I die before I reached my destination? The suspense was agonising. Even so, the voyage was much faster than the trip Mahito and I had taken on our little boat without a sail. On days when the winds came up, the ship glided over the waves as if it were flying. The boat Mahito and I had travelled on was beholden to the currents, and we had drifted with the waves.
One day the ship came to a large island with thick groves of trees. The sailors gingerly navigated into a lovely harbour with tall stands of chinquapin trees pressing down upon the shore and beaches of dazzling white sands.
I rested on the gunwale, surveying the scene, as boys and girls crowded noisily into the harbour. Waving their arms, they seemed delighted at the ship’s arrival. Their faces were burnt black by the sun. Their eyebrows were thick, their eyes large – familiar features. Their garments, too, resembled those of my island in cut and pattern. Certain that I must be close to Umihebi Island, I flew off the ship.
‘Look at that,’ the ship captain pointed in my direction. ‘The yellow jacket’s leaving.’
‘So, you were headed to the southern islands!’
The sailors waved me off with kind words of farewell. I flew circles in the sky to signal my gratitude.
I forgot the hardships of the long voyage. I was intoxicated by the scenery of the southern islands. During the languid heat of the early afternoon, the seaside morning glories nodded gently, beckoning insects. When night fell, the hibiscus changed from pink to beige and scattered on the ground. I flew back and forth nearly mad with joy to be among flowers I had not seen for so long. I sipped the nectar of the sweet naio and drank my fill of the dew on the camellia leaves. Then I flew through the dense thickets and soared towards the luxuriant mountains where I trapped and ate bugs and spiders and, finally, napped in the shade of a leaf. Wherever I looked there were vines and tangled thickets, lively insects, and sea serpents slithering over the dry sand.
Everything resembled my old home, but I was still not on Umihebi Island.
The next morning, my energy restored, I began to fly over the seas in the direction of the rising sun. Every time I neared an island I would slow to look, but none was Umihebi. Twice the sun rose and set as I flew, but I continued my flight east. Many were the times I was so exhausted that I thought I would die.
Gradually I came to understand that I was nearing the end of my life. No matter how I tried to encourage myself, I just could not find strength to fly on. I would die before I reached my island. Night had fallen, and as I skimmed over the surface of the waves, I remembered the cold darkness of the Realm of the Dead. A world with no colour, no scent. Here, in contrast, I was weary but I had the salty smell of the sea, the sweetness of the air, the night sky that went on and on for ever – such beauty and freedom that I would never have known had I not been alive. If I died now, all would be lost. I had to keep going. I had to see Mahito and Yayoi. Just a glimpse, just a glimpse, I chanted, to urge myself on.
Suddenly I saw a giant rock jutting out of the sea. I scrambled onto it and clung there. I did not know what island I was on or near, all I knew was that I could rest. I nestled into a tiny crevice and slept soundly.
The next morning when I woke I saw that pure white lilies bloomed along the rock. I’d seen this before. Wasn’t this the northern coast where Mahito and I had set out on our voyage? I looked across the seas and saw the headland looming over the waves. The cape. There was no mistaking it. I could see its wall from the sea, but beautiful white lilies graced the crags and nodded gently as though welcoming the gods on their descent to the island.
Mahito and I, once we were far enough from land, had been so happy to have caught the currents that carried us from the island and launched us on our escape. We had taken each other’s hands in celebration and just then, when we looked back to the island, the sight of the white lilies dotting the black crags was so beautiful it had taken our breath away.
And now at last it seemed I had returned to Umihebi. My life, I could tell, was ebbing. I imagined a wasp’s span was at best a month. Before the light of my life went out, I had to find Mahito and my daughter. I wondered if I had time.
The island I had not seen for so long was precious to me. As I flew over the land and looked down at the pandan thickets, the sago palms and the clusters of fan palms, the tears poured in my heart. Beneath me I could now see the large boulder we called The Warning. From above, I could tell that it was at the very centre of the tear-shaped island, as if someone had driven a wedge through the middle.
I wondered if Kamikuu, Child of Gods, was well. She was now the great Oracle. Was our mother, Nisera, still alive? I didn’t know how much time had elapsed since I’d been called to serve Izanami, and I wanted to see my family as soon as I could.
I headed in the direction of my house, flying fast. I didn’t see anyone on the way. It was as if everyone on the island was dead. I saw no smoke rising from the houses, no women going out to work. But I had seen quite a few of the little boats, so distinctive to our island, crowding the southern port. Perhaps it was the time that the men returned from fishing.
If they were still living, my father and older brothers would have come home, too. I forgot that I was a wasp and my heart raced as it had when I was a little girl. I began looking here and there eagerly for signs of my family. The air smelt dry and briny; the sands glistened under the sun, so bright it was nearly blinding. And the surrounding limestone rocks seemed to sizzle with the heat. Succulent laurels covered the ground between the beaches and the houses. The island might have been poor, but it was rich with light and natural beauty. It teemed with life. I forgot about the cruel fate I had endured here and soared above, lost in a dream.
But the people, burnt black by the sun, had to work if they wanted to eat. Where were they?
Suddenly I came across a funeral procession. People were dressed in white and walked slowly side by side, just as they had when Mikura-sama died. But unlike Mikura-sama’s funeral, all of the mourners were women. And there was only one wooden coffin. It was not grand like the one that had contained my grandmother. But neither was it like Nami-no-ue-sama’s coffin, plain and roughly hewn. Four robustly strong young men I had never seen before were carrying it, one at each corner.
Whose funeral was it? I couldn’t imagine, and I was also startled by the style of the funeral, so unlike the one I had seen before. Spurring my exhausted body on, I darted this way and that.
There was a priestess at the head of the procession dressed in white. She had plaited strands of fern fronds circling her head, and two sprigs of yellow pandan blossom were thrust into either side of the headband, sticking up like horns. Her neck was encircled with strand after strand of pearls. She chanted and danced as she went, sounding a shell. She was a middle-aged woman with an impressive physique. She looked rather like Mikura-sama, but of course Mikura-sama was no longer alive. Unless I’d gone back in time. But was that possible?
Today, this very day
Little priestess, thou hast hidden
Fingers three in triangle pressed
Upon the sands thrice obeisance
The arc of the wave, the arch of the head
Today, this very day
Little priestess rest in peace
The heavens welcome you
The seas lift you up
For this day, this very day
We offer our prayers
No. I’d thought it was Mikura-sama, but it was Kamikuu. She must have been in her mid-thirties. She looked exactly as Mikura-sama had when we were girls. No, not exactly. She was more beautiful than Mikura-sama. She was majestic. I do not know quite how to describe her womanliness in a way that others will understand.
Her face and arms were as white as snow – nothing short of a miracle on a southern island like ours, which took the full force of the sun. Her lustrous hair hung down her back to just below her hips, and her dark eyes had a commanding look. They were bright and confident as though imbued with the full and perfect happiness of life. And her voice rang like a clear bell that would entrance any who heard it. Her fingers were supple and graceful and she moved her feet in time with the rhythm of her chant. The hem of her white robe fluttered as she spun. It was hardly a prayer: she seemed to be in the midst of a dance. Mikura-sama had awed all who saw her with her dignity. But Kamikuu captured hearts with her beauty and vitality. Even though they were taking part in a funeral procession, everyone followed as though bewitched by Kamikuu’s voice and movements.
I felt as if aeons had passed since I had last seen the island. Flustered, I scoured the surroundings for a familiar face. But other than Kamikuu, I didn’t recognise anyone. Perhaps Yayoi was among the others. There were about ten young women at the end of the procession but none looked as though she might be Yayoi.
What if I had still been alive? I had adored my elder sister, and I was filled with joy at having seen her once more. I circled her, beating my wings. Her voice raised in song, Kamikuu suddenly looked at me.
‘Kamikuu! It is your sister! Namima, Woman-Amid-the-Waves.’
I flew in circles in front of Kamikuu’s face. Kamikuu, while clapping the shells with her right hand and jiggling her strands of pearls with the left, looked at me quizzically. ‘Kamikuu, you are the great Oracle, a shaman, are you not? You understand what I’m saying, don’t you? Please, please . . . it’s Namima!’
I forgot that I had come to her from the underworld, the Realm of the Dead and defilement. I buzzed my wings with all my might. Suddenly the shells in Kamikuu’s hand flew into the air. I did not know what happened next. I fell to the side of the procession and lost consciousness.
When I came to my senses I felt lucky to be alive. I might have been trampled to death – or become a meal for a bird or a spider. I had even escaped being carried off by ants. For some time I had lain in the dirt, half dead. The sun was sinking and all around me it was growing dark. I tried to take flight, only to discover that my left wing was broken and crumpled against my belly. I had flown too close to Kamikuu, and she had hit me. I could not believe that the sister I had adored would hit me. The very thought of it broke my heart.
The funeral procession was long since gone and the ceremony at the Amiido would be over. I wondered who had become priestess of the darkness. But, more than that, who had died?
Kamikuu had been chanting ‘little priestess’. I had to find out who the ‘little priestess’ had been. I had sworn never again to set foot in the Amiido, but I turned in that direction. I could not fly well. The damage to my wing was serious. I became all the more aware that my life was quickly drawing to an end.
I need one more day – even just half a day. Please! I prayed to Izanami. I pictured her gazing into space with those unfocused eyes, pretending not to notice. And I was sure she was disappointed, even disgusted with me, at my willingness to pay such a price for one last look at the world of the living. But it had been my choice to change places with the sparrow wasp. I could have become an ant and lived a longer life. But I had chosen the wasp because it could fly long distances. So, if I died before seeing Mahito and Yayoi, I had no one but myself to blame. I sought out the soft female bloom of a sago palm and curled up inside, knowing that death would soon come.
I awoke the next morning with a start, jarred by a noisy butterfly. The late summer sun had not yet risen. By some stroke of luck, I was still alive. I started out once again in the direction of the Amiido in the furthest western corner of the island.
The rising sun dyed the round, grassy clearing of the Amiido red. Before me was the gaping opening to the white limestone cave. Twenty years must have passed since I was left there alone to open the lids of the coffins every morning, check Mikura-sama and Nami-no-ue-sama, console them and assist them in their passage to eternity. My fear rushed back to me vividly. And even though I was a sparrow wasp, my heart was pounding wildly.
The Amiido was the temporary abode of the dead. It was where the corpses lay, after the spirits had left. Of course, the crumbling coffins lining the cave were filled with the white bones of Mikura-sama, Nami-no-ue-sama and my ancestors. Some of the coffins were so deteriorated that bones poked out of them. In some cases, the coffins had broken open, leaving them exposed. Those closest to the entrance were the newest.
The roof of the tiny hut where I had once lived was freshly thatched with pandan leaves. It would withstand the heavy rain that fell every summer night and even strong storm winds. Resting in the shade of a white trumpet lily, I stared at the hut, coloured by the rays of the morning sun.
The door opened and a girl stepped out. The priestess of the darkness. Her presence was indispensable to the island, but it was tragic that she had been born to such a fate. Her eyes were swollen with tears. She let out a long sigh. I felt as if I were looking at my past self. I had been too frightened to enter the hut on my first night in the Amiido. This girl seemed more resigned to her fate than I had been. Perhaps she had been told from when she was a little girl that she would become the next priestess of the darkness. Her little body was rail thin, but her arms and legs were long and agile and she looked strong.
She seemed to waver before turning towards the cave. She went inside, loosened the lid of the newest coffin and peered in. She began her terrifying task. ‘Good morning, Mother.’
The morning sun glittered off the tears that were rolling down her cheeks. Was the dead person the little priestess’s mother? I drew closer, careful not to make too much noise with my wings. I looked over the girl’s shoulder into the coffin below. The dead woman was old, her hair white. Her eyes were closed, her face peaceful.
‘Mother, I will now do all the things that you were accustomed to do. But my first task is to send you on your way. It makes me so sad.’
The girl clung to the coffin, tears rolling down her cheeks. She wiped them with her palms. Her face, very lovely, was somehow familiar to me. But I couldn’t quite place her. And I assumed from what she had said that the old woman in the coffin had been the priestess of the darkness, but that did not make sense. In my time, Mikura-sama and Nami-no-ue-sama had been a pair – one day, the other night. They had been sisters. One had tended the world of the living, the other the world of the dead.
‘But, thanks to you, I’m not as scared as I might have been, Mother. Even if your body starts to fester, I won’t be frightened. Of course I love you, Mother. You were so good to me. Now it’s my turn to care for you. I’ll watch over you until the twenty-nine days have passed, and you’ve turned into a spirit and have travelled to the bottom of the sea.’
I can still remember that moonlit evening. Mikura-sama and Nami-no-ue-sama appeared before me in their living bodies to offer me their thanks. But I did not deserve their gratitude. I had betrayed them. I was carrying a child in my belly.
The girl spoke bravely: ‘Mother, Nisera-sama is here, too – she was always so kind to me and my older brothers. They’re here so I’m not afraid. And, besides, you did the work before me. I’m ready. It makes me sad and lonely, but someone has to do it. It can’t be helped.’
Nisera? So my mother had died and been left here as well? Her body had been laid somewhere inside the cave. I felt a wave of sharp disappointment knowing that now I would not see her again. But if she came to the underworld, to the Realm of the Dead, it wouldn’t be so lonely there.
The girl placed the lid back on the coffin, put her hands together and bowed her head in prayer. She stood and walked towards the cave entrance. On the night when I’d become the priestess of the darkness my father and brothers had placed a gate at the opening to the Amiido and locked me in. There was a gate there now as well. But it wasn’t made of pandan thorns, as it had been when I was shut in. It was a gate in name only, made with plaited fern fronds.
On the other side of the gate I noticed a tall man leaning forward. His coppery skin stood out against the white mourning robes he was wearing, making his sturdy body all the more striking. Who was he? I’d seen him before. It couldn’t be Mahito, could it? He was opening his mouth to speak. I pricked up my ears.
‘Yayoi, are you all right?’
Shocked, I peered into the face of the girl. It was my daughter, she who was born in ‘the deep of night’. I could see it now. Her face was like my mother Nisera’s. And her long, thin body was like mine. The strength in her eyes reminded me of Kamikuu. No, I suppose they were more like Mahito’s. His eyes had always been so full of purpose. The closer I looked, the more I knew she was my daughter, the most beautiful girl in the world. But why had Yayoi become the priestess of the darkness? I had been yin, so she would be yang.
Yayoi ran happily towards the man. ‘Elder Brother Mahito! You came, just as you promised you would!’
So, it was Mahito. I stared at his face. His eyes had the same intense look; his nose the same high bridge. His body had transformed into that of a sturdy seafaring man. But he still had about him the gentleness and generosity of his youth. I was mad with joy. Finally, I had found my husband and daughter! But why had Yayoi called the old woman, ‘Mother’? And Mahito ‘Elder Brother’? I flew round and round, buzzing. Mahito glared in my direction and made as if to swat me.
‘That’s odd,’ he said. ‘We don’t have wasps on the island. And this one is big and probably spiteful. Be careful, Yayoi.’
Yayoi followed my flight with her eye. ‘I’m so lonely here, I’m glad of any company – even a wasp’s!’
I felt as though I’d been stabbed through the heart. I wanted more than anything to have human form so that I could speak to Yayoi. I wanted to tell her that I was her mother, that I had escaped from the island all those years ago to save her life. And why was she here anyway?
As if nothing were amiss, Mahito handed her something wrapped in a palm leaf. ‘Your dinner.’
Yayoi took the packet from him. ‘Elder Brother, Mother doesn’t look dead. She looks as though she is sleeping. Would you like to see her?’
Mahito remained silent. He raised his hands to block the morning sun. With their large knuckles, they were beautiful. Those were the firm hands that had squeezed my own on the stormy night so long ago when I was coming back from delivering Kamikuu’s food. Hands that had explored my body and uncovered the secret wick of my pleasure. On nights when I could not sleep, those were the large hands that had covered my eyes – and the hands that had been wrapped around my throat, hands upon which the sea-snake broth had spilt. I stared at the hands now bathed in the rays of the morning sun and grew wild with doubt.
Had Mahito passed off Yayoi as his younger sister? If so, the woman in the coffin was his mother. Her family, the Umigame, was cursed because she had not been able to fulfil her duty and provide the island with the substitute miko.
Mahito had returned to the island with the infant Yayoi and had deceived the islanders into believing that his mother had finally given birth to a baby girl. That meant he, his parents and younger brothers had been spared certain death. Mahito’s mother was the auxiliary miko so she had become the priestess of the darkness when I had escaped from the island. It was the role of her family to fill the vacancy. And that meant, when Kamikuu, the great Oracle died, my daughter Yayoi would be required to follow her in death.
‘Please don’t ask me to do such a thing. You know it’s bad luck for a fisherman to meet the dead in daylight. If I went to look at Mother I’d be breaking the rules and I’d invite punishment.’ Mahito knitted his brows and looked around him worriedly. I was furious. He and I had broken rule after rule, hadn’t we? How many times had the two of us eaten the food Kamikuu had left – food I should have thrown over the cliff into the sea? And what about all the times we had made love? I was supposed to remain a lifelong virgin. But I had become pregnant and we had fled the island. After all the rules we had broken, who would be punished? Only Yayoi. My heart felt as if it were going to break in two.
What should I do? I flew round and round, buzzing. Of course, Yayoi was innocent and unaware of any of this. She was just doing her best to fulfil the role she thought was hers.
‘Elder Brother, when do you set sail?’ she asked anxiously.
‘Tonight. My son will bring your meals.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I almost forgot – use this.’
Mahito pulled a spoon from within the breast of his robe and handed it to Yayoi. It was made of turban shell. Wasn’t that the spoon that Nami-no-ue-sama had used when she lived in the little Amiido hut? The night that Mahito and I fled, it was the only thing I had taken with me.
‘What is it?’ Yayoi asked, as she gazed at it.
Mahito hesitated before he replied. ‘It’s something that a woman named Nami-no-ue-sama used. It was left with me.’
‘Oh, I know why! She was the priestess before Mother took over.’
Neither of them had made any mention of me. I wondered why. And why hadn’t Mahito told his daughter the truth? Namima was the priestess to follow Nami-no-ue. She was your mother. But Mahito spoke so easily with Yayoi, as if she were someone else entirely.
‘Yes. And now it belongs to you, Yayoi. Use it in your little hut.’
‘Thank you for your kindness.’
Mahito gave her hand a squeeze. ‘You’ll be lonely at first. But concentrate on your duties. When the funerary rites are over, the spirits will return to see you. So, please, do your best to see Mother off to the next life. She suffered long and hard to give birth to you.’
‘I will. And you be careful, too, Elder Brother. How is Kamikuu-sama?’
‘She’s well.’
‘I won’t be able to see her for some time. Please give her my regards.’
‘I will.’ Mahito flashed his white teeth as he smiled.
I landed on his back, so quietly he did not notice.
A handsome man in his prime, Mahito strode briskly along the island paths as I clung to him. Whenever he chanced to meet someone along the way, they would gaze up at him with deep respect, almost as if they were dazzled, and would greet him with a deep bow. What a contrast with the days when his family was cursed because it had failed to produce a female child. Mahito had not been allowed to join the other men on the fishing vessels but had had to go out with the women to pick seaweed and shellfish from the beaches. Those humiliating days were now over. And all because he had lied to the island chief and presented my daughter as his younger sister. My heart was filled with the blackest suspicion.
Mahito entered a tiny hut on the edge of the Kyoido. It was in the same place where Mikura-sama had had her cottage – where I used to leave the basket of food for Kamikuu. But Mikura-sama’s cottage was no longer standing. Now there was a new house with a roof of pandan thatch and high, stilted flooring that gave it a pleasantly cool appearance.
Two youths were standing in front of the well in the garden, binding coral to a heavy fishing net. They turned and waved to Mahito. One boy was nearly full-grown and had the build of a fine fisherman. The other was probably around eight years old. Like his older brother, he looked a clever boy.
‘Welcome back, Father!’
Mahito nodded, and asked, ‘Where is your mother?’
‘She’s at the altar, offering prayers for the safety of the fishing fleet,’ the older boy answered. The younger looked at his father with bashful delight, then turned back to repairing the net. Mahito patted his shoulder, then strode off towards the altar. So, Mahito had married Kamikuu and together they had had all these children. Next a young girl of about sixteen came out of the house, a little girl of about five at her side.
‘Welcome home, Father!’
A daughter. The household of the great Oracle was secure. Kamikuu had fulfilled her duties well. Splendid and dignified as a miko, successful as a mother – and she had Mahito’s love.
I remembered how, long ago, she had confessed her desire for him. ‘I shall soon begin to have babies. That is my fate. If I could have a baby with a man like Mahito, I would be happy. But Mikura-sama told me I can’t so long as Mahito’s family is under a curse.’
That was why Mahito had turned back so close to Yamato. He had to fulfil Kamikuu’s desire. I wanted to pray for my sister’s happiness, and the happiness of my former husband. But I could never forgive Mahito for changing my daughter’s fate.
Still unaware that I was clinging to his back, Mahito walked towards the altar nestled in a grove of banyan trees at the centre of the Kyoido. Kamikuu, dressed in white, was standing there, facing east, earnestly at her prayers. Mahito waited patiently until she had finished. The words she chanted were the ones Mikura-sama had intoned. I vaguely remembered them.
Heavens . . . we bow before you.
Seas . . . we bow before you.
Island . . . for you we pray.
Heaven-racing sun, revering you,
Sea-bed creeping sun, shunning you,
Our men sing the seven songs.
Our men spell the three verses upon the waves.
Heavens . . . we bow before you.
Seas . . . we bow before you.
Island . . . upon you we rely.
Kamikuu turned, sensing Mahito’s presence.
Still in her prayer clothes, she flew into his arms. ‘I don’t want to be without you for so long.’
‘It can’t be helped. A man has to go to sea.’
‘Promise me you’ll come home safely, Mahito.’
‘Your prayers will protect me.’
They remained in each other’s arms, silent. It was clear that they were in love. I couldn’t bear to look at them. Without a sound I flew into the banyan tree and landed on a root. Kamikuu raised her face to Mahito. ‘If my prayers reach the heavens, I will keep praying until I die.’
‘If you die, Kamikuu, the island will perish.’ He buried his face in the nape of her neck as he spoke.
‘When your mother died she seemed to know that you would be safely reinstated. She was a true miko after all. And she gave us such a wonderful replacement in Yayoi. I’m sure she died peacefully. But Yayoi will not be able to have children so there will be no alternative miko.’
Kamikuu looked up at Mahito with pity in her eyes.
‘It can’t be helped, Kamikuu. You must live a long life. We’ll wait for a granddaughter. That’s the island rule, isn’t it?’
Now Mahito was willing to accept the fate the island imposed on him. That was why he had killed me – I had been in the way. When I understood this, the shock was almost overwhelming. He and I had waged a battle against the cruel fates that had faced us. Mahito had secretly carried Kamikuu’s leftover food to his mother. And when she had failed to deliver a girl child, he had shared the food with me and had made me with child, priestess of the darkness though I was. Then we had fled the island. He had broken all the island rules with me. And now he had offered up my daughter to those rules.
‘Mahito, even when you’re away for the briefest time I am lonely.’ Kamikuu rubbed her cheek against his. ‘I’ve been in love with you ever since I was a little girl. I told myself, “If I can’t have Mahito for my husband, I don’t want anyone.” ’
‘I felt the same way.’ Mahito drew her close. ‘How wildly I’ve adored you, Kamikuu – for as long as I can remember. But since my family was cursed and out of favour, I could only think of you as a precious pearl I must never touch.’
Never once in their conversations did I hear my name. Kamikuu’s little sister who had died so long ago. The priestess of the darkness who had disappeared. That little scrap of a girl no one remembered. That was me. And now the sparrow wasp I had become trembled with fury.
‘I was so happy when your mother gave birth to Yayoi. I had heard nothing about you for so long and I was worried.’
‘Well, my mother was ill.’
‘And then Namima jumped into the sea and drowned. Being the priestess of the darkness must have been more than she could bear.’
‘She refused to accept her fate.’
When I heard Mahito say that, I summoned all the strength I had left and leapt into flight. I hovered right in front of his face. When Kamikuu saw me, her expression darkened. ‘I saw that wasp yesterday. I thought I’d slapped it away.’
‘It was at the Amiido, too – and we don’t have wasps on this island. It must be dangerous.’
As Mahito reached out to kill me, I sank my sting between his brows, crying out, ‘Liar!’
A look of utter shock spread over his face, as if he had heard what I had said, and then he collapsed on the ground. Kamikuu screamed. And I, in the midst of my rage, breathed my last.