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Part I
The Whispers sought him out whether he liked it or not. Kazuha was no stranger to them, and neither were they to him. They plagued his steps, dogging his turns like parasitical puppies stubbornly leeching off his mind. At first, he’d been terrified of the Whispers, only seeing their teeth and claws. As he matured, he started seeing them for their lolling tongues and perked-up ears. He started finding them endearing, if not disheartening.
The Whispers didn’t deserve his reproach, they were only hounds unleashed from their masters. As time passed, Kazuha found that he didn’t blame said masters either.
How could he? It wasn’t with disgust or shame in their voice as they steered clear of him when they warned their children to run at the sight of him when they all but isolated him. It was concern and fear.
So Kazuha politely went another street over when mothers hefted their sons into their arms, when fathers leaned over and declared not-so-softly to their daughters ‘It’s the cursed Kaedehara kid, stay away from him, you hear? A pretty face isn’t worth dying over.` Kazuha petted the wispy Whispers that morphed from their words and flocked to him. His hand would phase right through, but he deemed acknowledgment better than ignorance.
Kazuha marched up the cobbled road to his house, his shoulders heaving with exertion as he lugged a basket of Diona’s Dispelling Solutions to the door, an army of Whisper hounds behind him. A hound leaped at him, skirting his ear. ‘Dangerous, don’t….to him..’
He grimaced at the sliver of cold, shaking himself out of it. He gently laid the basket on the doorstep, the glass bottles clinking. “Alright, you know what happens now,” Kazuha announced, crossing his arms as he leveled a stern look over the pack of Whispers. “Kabu’s going to have a heart attack if I try to let you guys in again.”
Reluctantly, he fished out a Dispelling Solution by its neck. The sticker on the clear bottle read `Diona’s Dispelling Solution: Fear flavor. Make them cower into smoke!` Kazuha flushed in bewilderment, the flavors kept getting more aggressive with each restock. He was starting to worry about poor Diona’s mentality. He set the bottle back, choosing a new one. Before popping the stopper open, he confirmed the flavor to be ‘comfort’.
A sharp smell of apples and cinnamon drifted out from the bottle, the Whispers immediately crowding in for a whiff. A flurry of words poured into his ears. `...Bad…very bad.` `Wretched boy….poor….mother.` `Pitiful thin….potential…` He was going to get a headache. Without further delay, he raised the bottle, sending drops of the liquid splattering over the hounds. They dissipated, their words turning into ones of endearment. `Kind young man…` `He deserves….more..` `Damn…the curse…I’ll….friend..`
In the end, Kazuha emptied a grand total of five Dispelling Solutions to decimate his loyal pack of Whispers thoroughly. He was cleaning up the mess of bottles when a lone Whisper trotted to him. “Strange, I thought I’d gotten all of you,” he mumbled, dropping to one knee to phantom-pet the hound.
`Hello, Kazuha,` it sang, clearer than the rest. It was new.
Kazuha chuckled, spilling the dregs of his last Dispelling Solution onto the eager pup. “Good evening, Kabu,” he greeted, rising to his feet as the Whisper puffed into the air.
“Ah, so close!” came a voice, accompanied by a wistful sigh. Kabukimono peeked from behind their neighbor’s house, smiling. He must have used another route, Kazuha would have spotted him otherwise.
Kabukimono’s appearance was more mussed than when he left this morning. His inky hair was windblown and his complexion was pinked prettily. But the angle of his indigo eyes and chin were as regal as ever.
“Your Whisper gave it away,” Kazuha replied, smiling kindly.
“I wasn’t counting on it lasting that long,” Kabu admitted, striding up the steps and taking his place by Kazuha’s side. “Busy day? That was a big pack.”
Kazuha shrugged indifferently, brushing off Kabukimono’s casual concern. “I had a few errands to run. What with all the hounds running after me, it made for quite an eventful afternoon.”
Kabukimono lowered himself onto the ground, sitting on the topmost steps leading to their shared house. He didn’t have to blink imploringly like he used to for Kazuha to take the hint. Kazuha propped up a knee as he sat, bumping their shoulders.
He couldn't recall the number of mornings, afternoons, evenings, and nights they’d spend like this. Huddled shoulder to shoulder, heads angled to rest on each other. He treasured these shared intimacies more than anyone else would.
Kazuha was cursed, it wasn’t a secret he withheld. Many would shelter that secret in a nest of fear and anxiety. Kazuha knew better, he’d felt it hatch and outgrow the nest too many times to count. He concluded that it was best to let it wander as it wanted, fly where the wind deemed it.
“You know…” Kabukimono started, and by the tone of his voice, Kazuha already knew where the conversation was going. “I still think we should try.”
Kazuha would shake his head if doing so wouldn’t compromise his cozy position. He settled on pursing his lips. “No, I’m not getting a Remedy’s bone.”
“Are you sure? I know a few vendors,” Kabukimono offered cautiously, his expression wilting at Kazuha’s hard look. “Please? I’m sorry. I think it’d be good.”
Remedies were those born with immunity to curses and spells. By donning any part of them, anyone would gain that immunity as well. Their hair brought the weakest protection, wearing off in days. The bones, however, were permanent. The price was the Remedy’s willingness. Their protection could only be granted if they gave parts willingly.
Like that feeble balance could usurp greed. Humans found a way.
Kazuha drew his head back. This time, he did shake it, slow and disapproving. “It’s not worth it. Not if I forever live and wonder how someone’s suffering might have granted me relief.”
His friend sighed, tutting once, twice. “You’re as selfless as ever, Kazuha.” To anyone else, the conversation would have ended there, with Kabukimono’s blithe smile and silence. Kazuha knew him better than that.
“Go on,” Kazuha urged. “Don’t let me stop you.”
He chuckled ruefully. “I can’t hide anything from you, can I?” He went quiet again, Kazuha was ready to stop prying when Kabu finally spoke. “It’s worth it if it’s for you.”
“This is enough for me, dear,” Kazuha reassured, feeling his chest twinge. “I have you, I don’t need anything more.”
Kazuha’s curse entailed that every soul he grew to love will perish, or meet a gruesome end. He didn’t care for the specifics, he’d witnessed his limit of demonstrations. He’d deem Kabu a miracle, the latter clinging and breathing after years. Kabukimono didn’t bear a Remedy’s mark, nor a curse sigil that might have overridden Kazuha’s.
Kazuha wasn’t going to question that either. The Gods may have abandoned his prayers and left him, but Kazuha still believed in nature, the universe, and all things before divinity. That fall wind cut in and left him a friend amidst a storm of maple leaves. He’d never felt so indebted.
“Doesn’t mean you don’t deserve more,” Kabu said, laughing bitter and bright at once. Kazuha felt a torrent of longing that he was quick to diffuse. His dearest companion incited the worst of his hopes and dreams.
“Alright, alright, come on,” Kabukimono decided, standing up and hauling Kazuha up gently. “Let’s go inside before it gets dark. Say, have you heard of what the village kids are talking about? They’re hiding something from me but maybe you and your hundreds of Whispers-”
“Okay, I’m coming,” Kazuha agreed at last with fond exasperation. “I’ll make dinner tonight, as a thank you.”
“Haha, I accept. Especially since you offered so willingly.”
Kazuha lugged his half-emptied basket inside with them, trailing after his roommate. He pushed his back onto the door, not pulling away until it made a resounding click, signaling that it was closed and securely so. The evening was wilting but the night was only blooming, he intended to enjoy its beauty and company for a while yet.
»»————- ————-««
Kazuha commandeered a homely little room in the back of the house, with a snug bay window that framed a picturesque view of the stretching fields behind their town. He’d chosen the room for the exact reason. And it was quiet, pushed as far away from the loud neighborly sounds that inhabited the front of the house.
This was precisely why he heard rather than saw someone enter his room in the dead of night. The Whisper reached him first, nosing its spectral snout into his hair, calling his name. Kazuha woke up with a shiver, blindly batting the hound away in an attempt to steal more sleep. He curled himself into the comfort of his rumpled bed.
“Kazuha,” came a scratchy whisper.
His tongue felt too numb to use, so he settled on throwing out a weighted hand to shoo his roommate away. Kabukimono only sighed, expecting the move, and caught Kazuha’s wrist effortlessly. He dropped it unceremoniously, it thudded on the mattress. Kazuha startled awake, jerking upwards. He spared a second to stare blankly at Kabukimono, before flopping back onto his back.
“Hey, hey, come on,” Kabu tried, and without permission, lifted himself onto Kazuha’s bed. He nudged the latter, laughing at Kazuha’s displeased wrinkle of the nose.
Kazuha rolled over, facing him. “What is it?” Kazuha managed, at last, his voice a croak that was spotty with sleep.
“I had a dream,” Kabu announced, sitting cross-legged on Kazuha’s mess of blankets and pillows. They were both basked in midnight blue, the barest slivers of light coming through the window. It did little other than highlight the gleam in Kabukimono’s eyes and show his vague outline.
Kazuha knew him long enough not to immediately dismiss the matter. “Mm.” He made a noise deep in his throat, rubbing his eyes. “What about?”
Taking it as an invitation, his roommate threw his back onto the already-warmed bed, propping his head up with his arms. “It’s not clear, but I heard voices talking about an auction for a Remedy’s spine,” he recalled.
“That is odd…” Kazuha mumbled, struggling to stay awake. “We were…just talking about this. Hours ago….maybe?”
“Precisely my point,” Kabu insisted. “It’s a sign, you think so too, right?” Upon receiving nothing but fuzzy silence, he glanced over to Kazuha’s barely conscious visage. “Kazuha?” He called, chuckling fondly at Kazuha’s garbled response. “Mmph. I’ll let you sleep now.”
Kazuha shoved his face into his pillow, latching loosely to what he guessed was Kabu’s wrist. “‘M used to it, you can…” He moved his head, sticking his nose out for air. “Stay.”
“Okay.” Kabukimono relaxed into the plush bed, his body sinking into the addicting softness. His heart was beating fervently with intrigue, his mind searching for stimulation. He felt a burning urge to argue. For Kazuha’s sake, he held still and started humming a little tune.
Kazuha was beginning to doze, his breaths coming out heavy and slow. In a feeble attempt at wakefulness, his ears caught a rough whisper. Kazuha was far too tired to pay heed to the newly formed Whisper sleeping between him and Kabukimono.
In Kabukimono’s voice, it said. “I can feel it. I know it. Something’s going to happen, Kazuha.”
»»————- ————-««
Kazuha woke up alone. He brushed the crust from his eyes, and planted his feet on the ground, swaying lightly. He padded off, Whispers in tow, in search of a Dispelling Solution. He took care of the Whispers, leaving the remaining solution on his bedside. He tugged the ends of his bedsheets and fluffed the pillows, folding the duvet and arranging the blankets.
Kazuha thought nothing of Kabukimono’s disappearance.
He didn’t question his roommate’s absence when he tumbled into the kitchen. He didn’t hesitate to plate the second portion of toasted bread and cheese and jam. He kept the plate on the table even as he cleaned up, knowing Kabukimono would eat it once he came for lunch.
He surmised that Kabukimono must have left early for work, being an herbalist required diligence and perseverance after all. Kabu’s clients were lenient enough to allow him breaks throughout the day, as Kazuha has learned.
Reassured with routine and familiarity, Kazuha left the house without worry.
»»————- ————-««
Kazuha returned home with little fanfare, fingers stained with soot and ash from working the blacksmith’s furnace. It was a dangerous job that required skill and focus and little much else, the blacksmith had considered this and risked hiring Kazuha as a help. It was a smoky and singing job but he was forever grateful to the hulking man’s generosity.
No matter his many thanks and sincerity, Kazuha only received gruff and curt replies in return. His feelings were hardly wounded, he was spared that effect ever since he grew used to the treatment over the years. However, every grueling work session rendered him dead to the world, every step he took might as well have been a mountain climbed.
He barely noticed the wrongness of his home, how dusty wafts of air hit him as though the house had fallen asleep and had only taken its first breath, how ringingly quiet the rooms were. Kazuha slumped face-first onto a low-lying loveseat, his feet dangling from the armrest.
Kazuha was aware of how ridiculous he looked, he was always painfully aware of how little he cared. He groaned, twisting onto his back, succeeding in obtaining a glorified view of the ceiling. For a time, he aimlessly watched the dust motes drift about in the setting sun’s light, the gold showering through the windows making the living room-meet-kitchen space seem like a mirage.
When his mind caught up to his eyes and exhaustion, Kazuha jolted. He glanced at the sink, expecting a discarded plate to be placed within. He frowned, seeing nothing. Did Kabukimono have extra time to clean? He was always in such a hurry.
A curious look towards the table spoiled that possibility. Kabu’s plate was still full, awaiting, and cold on the wooden surface. Kazuha was more skeptical than anxious, assuming it was merely one of Kabu’s busy days. Kazuha sighed past his nose, taking the plate and walking to place it by the back door. The forest Brownies would take it and tidy his home just a tad.
Slightly baffled, Kazuha kept himself calm and went on to make dinner.
»»————- ————-««
The evening passed, Kabukimono’s dinner went uneaten. The night dragged on, Kazuha stayed up until his lips were chapped from cold and his tongue was wet parchment in his equally dry mouth. He settled for bed and fell asleep the same way he woke up, alone.
He woke up alone again the next day and the next. Kazuha wiped the grime off his hands and made meals for two still, occasionally marveling at his spotless home. The Brownies kept to their deal after receiving the recent offerings. Few occasions required Kabukimono’s presence for days at a time, but he’d always sent a messenger to inform Kazuha.
Always.
Kazuha’s worry crept up on him slowly, like a predator stalking prey. His fear was a slinking mountain lion, trailing after him with soft feet until all he could see was the pawprints pressing closer and closer, and hot breath and sharp canines at his back. All that occupied his mind was worry. Irrational worry.
Kazuha wanted to bolt to Baizhu’s residence and inquire after their herbalist’s whereabouts. He wanted to sprint to the nearest guard station and file a missing person’s report. He wanted to go in search and drag Kabukimono back by the ear if he had to. He wanted to run from the crawling feeling on his skin, he wanted out .
On the fourth morning burning away in solitude, a letter arrived from a messenger bird. It pecked at the window, and the tick tick tap broke Kazuha from a stupor. He burst from his seat at the kitchen table, the chair scraping horribly against the floor. The pigeon squawked in outrage as the window panes were thrust open, sending it fluttering back. Kazuha offered the avian a grain of oatmeal as a reward, using the distraction to produce the letter tied to its back.
He didn’t realize his hands were trembling until he was struggling to unfold the letter, fingers clumsily fumbling with the flattened paper. Hope stuttered to life in his chest, like a fire that miraculously survived a snowstorm by a single ember. The pigeon stared at him in expectation as he painstakingly succeeded in unveiling the letter’s contents.
Just as the fire rekindled, it was snuffed out. Kazuha felt the cold creeping in, that all too familiar icy wind that stole through windows in the dead of night, leaving families grieving and hearts broken. He was dangling over a pit of grief, he knew the fall would shatter him.
»»————- ————-««
LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF HISAHIDE KAKUBIMONO
I, Hisahide Kabukimono, being of sound mind and disposing of mind, lie here writing and declaring this to be my last will, hereby revoking any other testaments made by me previously.
In the event of my death, I appoint Kuki Shinobu as my will’s executor. I give her full authority to oversee and transfer my property and diminish any possible debt I may have after death.
Whatever remains of my property will be divided equally among my existing family members, decided by my assigned executor, except for one thing. As a Remedy, I assign my bones, and with them my protection, to Kaedehara Kazuha. I am adamant that my gift will end up in his hands or no one's.
My last wish is for the rest of me to be buried in an open casket, at a windy location with plenty of distractions to offer me entertainment in death, nowhere stale or monotonous. Somewhere warm.
»»————- ————-««
Kazuha was falling, falling into the yawning chasm below. He couldn’t register the hollowness of the fall, how even his fear felt numb.
He felt cornered, snared in a cruel trap that had been there since the beginning. Was it always destined to end like this? He knew it always circled back to this, the curse was his most spry enemy yet his oldest friend.
But Kabukimono had lied. He’d concealed the truth of being a Remedy to Kazuah, letting his foolish hope fester and let his dreams turn sweet. He couldn’t blame him for it, he couldn’t hate Kabukimono, he couldn’t even if he tried. It would be easier for him, but he just couldn’t.
The vague hints that Kabukimono dropped, why didn’t he just be honest? The dream from days ago, ‘An auction for a Remedy’s spine’, was that truly a dream or another lie? How much was hidden from him? Kazuha stumbled, wanting to collapse. Did Kabukimono go to the auction?
It was like his chest was carved out, leaving an absence that was difficult to ignore. He felt overwhelmed, and most of all helpless. ‘Kabu’s dead’ didn’t seem as damning as Kabukimono would never speak again, nor would he eat, laugh or sing or cry. Kabukimono became a was. And Kazuha felt helpless and alone.
Kazuha bowed forward, silent and gasping. Some felt devastated at the loss of a loved one, trying desperately to force the pill down their throat quickly. Others, like Kazuha, found the pill too large to swallow, they break it up into pieces that are more bitter and prolonged. He felt like he was swallowing poison with every memory and thought. He was dying, just like Kabukimono, he was just doing it slow.
He came upon a cruel realization. He’d drown in the worry over and over if it meant he could somehow believe that somewhere out there, Kabu was drawing another breath. If it meant more evenings spent on their porch talking about everything and nothing. If it meant more midnights with a fervid Kabu.
Kazuha wasn’t sure what stung more, his blatant wish for ignorance or that he was left with nothing but memories. Soon enough, Kabukimono would become another memory. What a bitter fate.
»»————- ————-««
When a knock came the following day, Kazuha was ready.
His friend left a will behind and through whatever strength he mustered, Kazuha would do his best to abide by it. Yet he hadn’t gotten past the hurdle that was wearing Kabukimono’s bones. The idea made him ill, as if he’d be performing an illegal act. It didn’t matter how he felt, he wouldn’t disappoint a dead man’s wish.
“Mister Kaedehara,” greeted the young woman at the door, she was shorter in stature with pear-green hair hastily tied up high on the back of her skull. Her face was half obscured by a mask, he couldn’t find it in himself to wonder about her identity. He already knew enough. “My name is Kuki Shinobu, I’ve been appointed as the ‘executor’ for Mister Hisahide Kabukimono’s last will.”
“Ah, of course,” he returned easily, as he was expected to. If it were up to his emotions, they’d tell the executor to run off and let him be for another day. Perhaps another month. “Please, come in.”
He stepped to the side, allowing Shinobu in. The Brownies kept the space clean, Kazuha had initially found it relieving to not do any house chores. Now, he felt unsettled. The house felt too empty without Kabukimono’s miscellaneous items strewn about--an apple, some wildflower he found, or whatever strange trinket he came across.
“Have a seat, we can settle business over tea,” Kazuha offered, already reaching for a kettle. His mind strayed and quieted even as his body moved through the practiced movements. Whether it be fatigue or grief, he didn’t much care.
“Thank you, Mister Kaedehara.” A squeak was heard, followed by a shuffle of fabric, then paper. “First of all, please forgive me for calling on you at this time, and allow me to express my sincere condolences on your loss.”
“Thank you,” he cut in sharply, much too harshly. He winced. “That’s very kind of you, Miss Kuki.” He winched again, fighting the urge to curl in on himself.
Kazuha pried open a flower pod from a folded container, an unnecessarily flashy tea for the glum occasion. He took delicate care in plopping the bud in the steaming kettle. Minutes and seconds ticked by, and a floral and pleasant scent permeated the air as time ran from him. He was stalling.
Eventually, he set down the kettle and two teacups on the dining table. Kazuha sat, reluctant and wanting to be anywhere else, but he sat. He sipped at the chamomile-laden tea, knowing that he’d need its calming effect now more than ever.
“As stated in Hisahide Kabukimono’s last will, you have a direct claim to his bones,” Shinobu recalled, taking careful drinks from her teacup. “Unfortunately, we were never able to recover Hisahide’s body.”
“If it’s possible, might you be able to explain what happened to him?” His throat was lodged and the muscles near refusing to cooperate. But he’d never forgive himself if he gave Kabukimono the dishonor of ignorance.
“Huh? Ah, of course,” Shinobu amended, looking bewildered. “Strange….If I may, Mister Kaedehara, but did any informants or news reach you on Hisahide’s whereabouts during the time he was missing?”
“None,” he confessed quietly.
“That contradicts things,” she mumbled. “Hisahide Kabukimono reported into work one day at the village pharmacy, but Doctor Baizhu and several witnesses say he left early for what he said was an ‘important event’.”
“Later, we learned that he intended to uncover a Remedy trafficker’s ploy. He managed to crash the auction and rescue three Remedys, a child, and two elderly.”
Kazuha felt his lips twitch up ruefully. It was Kabukimono’s nature to selflessly swoop in without sense or reason. His moral compass was heroic in all the wrong ways, he’d run into a storm if it meant saving a singular flower from being trampled.
“We found evidence that suggested he was seized by force soon after. With everything we gathered, it appeared he lost and was taken. We tracked them down to their hideout in the woods but couldn’t continue further,” Shinobu continued, adopting a curt tone.
“Why?” His ears started ringing, drowning the sound of his voice.
“They seem to have crossed into the Fae Realm.”
»»————- ————-««
The Fae, a bedtime story and warning. They were immortals who presided over the land since the first dawn. Cruel ancient things that could only be prayed to when times were truly desperate. The list of dangers and precautions was enough to convince most to have their luck with death instead. Do not give them your name, do not eat the food they offer, do not lie to them-
Kazuha chanted all these in his head as he ventured deeper into the woods. The words jammed together in his head, swirling into jittery nerves. He tasted watered-down dread on his tongue, his heart lurching loudly against his chest. He hadn’t decided whether he was brave or a fool.
He learned the rules to break them. He was thorough in his research, he labored over books and conversations with locals that grimaced at him. He dissected the tidbits and constructed a clear codex on how to deal with the Fae. All so he could go and throw himself at their mercy.
Kazuha gingerly lowered himself to the ground, sitting with his legs folded at the perimeter of a ring of red-capped mushrooms. Squaring his shoulders, he loosed a sigh, taking his doubt out with it. Positioning his zither into place, Kazuha strummed the first few notes.
Music flowed from his fingers like a stream, unyielding and whimsical. His concentration fizzed and narrowed at once to the tune, to the precise pluck and natural pull of the string. He felt the drift of the wind, the weightless feel in his chest as exhilaration and fondness coursed through. The Fae accepted offerings of all sorts, but they were musical folk. He hoped he was putting on a good show.
The song weaved and danced, preening and prancing. His fingers moved rapid-fire with the rhythm, expertly stealing the breath from nature. The woods quieted to hear him, joining him. He was flaunting his skills with the flashiest tune he knew, a tune that drew mice from their burrows to chitter and rouse birds from their nests to learn.
And a tune so beautiful it lured out a Fae.
Kazuha could feel its otherworldly being lingering close by, aptly listening. The books had lied and said they were stone-faced creatures, he could feel the swell of its emotions in the breeze, in the north wind that made him shiver, in the silence that sprouted from its curiosity. It was as simple as seeing storm clouds and assuming it’d rain. He could discern its moods from how nature reacted.
The song came to a close, the forest awkwardly springing back to life in bouts of birdcalls and zephyr, much like a butterfly’s first flight. Kazuha gathered his breath, realizing he’d been holding it, and dared to look upwards. He shouldn’t have tried to breathe, because immediately upon having his sights laid on the Fae, his breath was caught.
The Fae was devastation born anew, a thief of beauty in all his gilded angles and assets. He stood centered in the mushroom ring, blue-black hair cut sharp and short, an enigmatic mix of messy and neat. He was as radiant as a full moon, his skin glowing and invitingly unblemished. His physique was drawn sinewy and lean, devastating. The Fae was ruination. He looked like Kabukimono.
One casted glance and Kazuha knew he was ruined.
The creature wore the face of his deceased friend and he wore it so painfully well that Kazuha felt guilt sink into the pit of his stomach. It was unfair. He was doing Kabukimono an injustice, he knew, for how could gazing upon his friend’s face made him forget him even more? Did Kabukimono look like this?
“Your skill just about compensates your stupidity,” said the Fae shrewdly, folding his arms. He had a honeyed voice, though his tone was sour. “Though, I’d argue it’s a rather close victory.”
His heart thrummed erratically, frantic and panicked. He wetted his lips and chased away his anxieties, he needed to be calm. Only a fool spoke to a Fae with an addled mind. “A victory nonetheless,” Kazuha agreed.
The immortal scoffed, distinctly snide. “Tell me, what’s a puny human doing here?”
Kazuha shivered, feeling the vague order rake claws down his back. If the urge to obey was already so noticeable, giving away his name would be the end of him. He was harshly reminded of the idiocy of his plan, and his futile courage to follow through. Overriding that, however, was the determination to see Kabukimono’s wishes through.
“I come in peace,” he provided simply.
“Ugh, are you dense? Or have humans’ brains shrunk in the centuries I last saw them?” The Fae threw his hands out irritatedly. “What do you want, human?”
Kazuha refused to be cowed by just a few cutting words. He raised his chin, holding his head high.“I intend to strike a bargain.”
The Fae’s periwinkle eyes darkened, narrowing. He’d never known those eyes to be so vicious, so hard. Those eyes roved over him from head to toe, and he refused to flush, especially knowing that the Fae was most likely seizing him up for dinner rather than any interest. Though there was enough heat in the look, any oblivious others would’ve convinced themselves otherwise.
Kazuha knew better.
“What’s your name?” asked the Fae.
Kazuha smiled, anticipating the answer. Capturing a Fae’s attention has its dangers, much like a knife, he just needed to wield it properly. “I cannot give you my name, you may call me Kaedehara.”
“Maybe you’re smarter than I initially thought, Kaedehara.” It was hard to discern praise from insult with the strange being. “You may call me Scaramouche.”
Kazuha dipped his head in understanding, smiling pleasantly. So far, so good.
“Let’s revisit your request, shall we?” Scaramouche hummed thoughtfully, holding his chin as he pondered. “A bargain. Well then, Kaedehara, what do you seek?”
“Seven days ago, a friend of mine was forcefully taken.” This part of the story was easy enough because it was fact, and because there was no refuting fact. “Though he is now deceased, I have reason to believe he and his captors are in your realm.” He wavered, finding it increasingly challenging to stare at the Fae’s face.
“In his last will, he has written that his bones will be mine to claim.” Kazuha rested the zither comfortably in his lap, hands loosely hanging off its frame. “I’ve come to collect mine owed.”
To Kazuha’s surprise, Scaramouche burst into laughter. It sounded lovelier than any melody and crueler than any poison, it was ethereal and endless but lasted too short. “That’s rich! I didn’t know you had a bloodthirsty streak, Kaedehara.”
“I…do?”
“You came all the way here so you can collect a pile of human bones?” Scaramouche bent over in laughter, his hair falling forward to frame his face artfully. “What brutal stubbornness! I like it!”
“He’s a Remedy, his last wish was to rid me of my curse,” Kazuha defended weakly, perplexed over Scaramouche’s amusement and why he was trying to defend Kabukimono’s dead honor.
“A Remedy! That’s your reason!” Scaramouche ceased his laughter, a savage grin splitting his breathtaking face. He leaped over the ring of mushrooms, landing an arm's distance away from Kazuha. Kazuha could see the peak of his canines.
His blood roared to life, an innate screech that told him to run, run far and away, away from the eye, away from it-
His legs moved on their own accord, blindly trusting that instinct. He all but jumped from the ground, knees bending to run. He stopped himself from bolting, soothing his frazzled body and mind into standing awkwardly whilst holding the zither. His body was begging to run, to seek safety, to escape the danger that was staring at him so bluntly.
“You really are something, Kaedehara,” Scaramouche crooned, stepping closer. Kazuha couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being hunted. “You beautiful wretched thing.”
“I am willing to trade with what I am willing to part with that is of equal value,” Kazuha recited, his voice strained.
To his horror, the closer Scaramouche crept, the further the image of sharp teeth and inhuman speed receded into his mind. Instead, he found himself lulled, enticed by the promise of a kind smile and addicting laughter, the promise of having Kabukimono again. To his horror, he started to feel safe.
“All of his bones?” Scaramouche asked, his voice taking on a deadly softness.
“His entire body if possible,” Kazuha hedged. Kabukimono was a dear friend, the most and longest loved by him. He wasn’t selfish enough to keep Kabukimono to himself, he’d try to give the villagers a burial for their beloved herbalist.
Scaramouche chuckled. “Greedy. That’s not what you started with.”
“My apologies, my condition still stands.” Kazuha was as quick to apologize as his hope was to flicker out.
“I don’t think you’re ready to pay for the body,” Scaramouche concluded, raising a brow in challenge. “So my question still stands, all of his bones?”
Kazuha amended, “His ribcage, intact and untouched.”
“Is that it?” he asked.
Kazuha hesitated, skepticism weighing his judgment into a snail’s pace. “Yes,” he replied at last.
“Be ready to pay the price,” Scaramouche warned.
Kazuha straightened his back, holding firm. He didn’t leave room for doubt, he’d honor his friend’s last wish, no matter how badly he wanted to pray for him to give up and find someone more worthy. But Kabuki…(what was his name?) was dead, and there was no forcing a dead man’s hand. “Name your price. I’ll be ready.”
Scaramouche fell silent, a faraway look on his face as he thought. He stood with a predatory stillness, a stark silhouette against the ever-moving landscape. His eyes were dark, not in color but in intention, dark in the way a snake’s pupils would slit. The hue itself was deep indigo with flecks of silver. They looked like jewels.
“I know,” Scaramouche declared, clapping his hands together in glee. “In return for your friend’s ribcage, you will give me your heart.” He looked so proud, so expectant that it almost hurt Kazuha to lift his tongue.
“Won’t I die?”
For a moment, Scaramouche looked confused. “No one’s exempt from death,” he mused, a question written on his face. Ah, the Fae, wily and sly but taking things quite literally.
“Let me rephrase, wouldn’t you taking my heart kill me?” Kazuha wondered if an immortal like Scaramouche could die, or if he had a stage akin to death.
“The value of a living thing is always worth more than the entirety of the dead combined.” Scaramouche stalked closer, his movements graceful and cutting. “You measly humans are so inept, allow me to elaborate.”
“Your heart is a stubborn one, so loving….pathetic, really,” said the Fae. “Its warmth, that youthful naivety…I crave it.”
Kazuha’s head spun, he reminded himself that Scaramouche wasn’t a pretty village boy speaking bold love declarations, but was thoroughly enraptured by the concept of love. It’d be easier to delude himself into thinking that this lonely immortal merely wanted affection. Knowing that was far from reality, Kazuha allowed himself to be frightened.
He wasn’t going to let it break his resolve.
“In exchange for your aid in giving me Hisahide Kabukimono’s unbroken ribcage, I will give you my heart,” Kazuha said deliberately slow, knowing that every word would be a contract forever bound. “Are you satisfied with the terms of this agreement?”
There weren’t many studies dedicated to bargaining or bartering with the Fae, and for good reason. Many scholars and researchers simply ended their findings with a firm *don’t.* He gleaned what he could. He could just hope that he wasn’t somehow binding himself to imminent doom.
Scaramouche smiled. He was so beautiful it hurt. “Yes, do we have a deal?”
“We do,” Kazuha confirmed, bowing.
Scaramouche watched the gesture blankly, before reaching forward to place a hand above Kazuha’s chest. “I will remember and honor this agreement,” he said, grinning at Kazuha’s stuttering heartbeat. Within one blink and the next, he vanished.
The wind caressed his hair, tinging his ears pink as it blew strands onto his face. Kazuha lifted a hand to his chest, tracing the outline of where Scaramouche’s hand had been. The whispers of pressure were still there, proof that the exchange had been all too real.
Kazuha clutched the fabric of his chest, caging his still-beating heart. “I will remember and honor this agreement,” Kazuha murmured.
»»————- ————-««
Time passed strangely for the grieving. It went by dreadfully slowly. The days dragged on aimlessly, and Kazuha was bitter every time the sun rose. Nothing could bar the cycle of day and night, not even a death that shook the center of Kazuha’s life. When another day came to a close, he turned his accusations to the dark moon. Nothing would change, his friend was dead and nothing would change. Neither sun nor moon cared if his friend breathed, it’d trudge on day after day and just keep on going. Nothing would change.
Time flew swiftly, too quickly. Kazuha was flooded with an overwhelming amount of changes. His friend’s belongings had to be moved out of the house, and he spent autumn in a too-barren house with only Whispers for company. He didn’t cry, couldn’t bring himself to care, and when he checked—another day gone, he made it through another day.
In winter, when ice spiderwebbed through the pavement and froze over the streets, he’d slipped. He was carrying a crate of emptied Dispelling Solutions, and one had tumbled over and shattered on the ground. Kazuha had stiffened, then broke into sobs. He slid to his knees, trembling as he wept into his hands. It was a harmless mistake but he was so stupid and it all felt too heavy, he felt so alone and there was nothing he could do—
He’d cried in the biting cold, only a few steps away from his front door. Alone and cold, Kazuha had picked himself and the glass shards from the ground. The tears must have been weighing him because all he felt after was numbness. He grew more distant from his needs and the world, eating and bathing out of necessity, speaking and replying like he was expected to.
His employer had clapped soot-stained hands on his shoulders and demanded he take a break. Kazuha had nodded, smiled, and thanked him like he was expected to. He spent winter isolated in his house, haunted by space and breaking down at random intervals over the smallest of mistakes.
Then spring came, and the changes got better.
Kazuha went out to thawing snow and budding flowers, he breathed in the smell of dew and fresh air, and he continued to walk. He made friends, shared his condolences with the other herbalists, found himself at blaring concerts speaking to a bright-eyed performer, and trading stories with a dog-eared squire.
Kazuha decorated and filled the blank areas within his house, he fired his stove and hummed as the aroma of spices permeated the air, and he started sleeping in his bed rather than his forgotten friend’s deserted one. Kazuha moved on.
He stopped at times, to examine the delicate chain fastening the ribcage accessory to his torso. He’d run his fingers on the surface of the bone and stare at his hand in remorse and longing, but he’d turn away and he’d continue onwards.
A year passed, and he took it in stride.
Kazuha found a fragile peace, and he was ready to bask in it. Except, because there were always exceptions, one thing still plagued him.
Scaramouche.
Kazuha should feel fortunate that the Fae hasn’t called in on their deal, he should feel fortunate that there were no attempts at communication whatsoever. He should be gladdened and pray that he’d somehow been forgotten. But the thoughts only made him frown.
He’d shutter his eyes and dream of indigo eyes, devastatingly beautiful as they glared at him. Kazuha would flutter his eyes open, and find his hand drifting towards his chest, trying to mimic the touch that slender fingers had once left. Kazuha would be treading home after a tiring day of work, his line of sight trailing the vast forests and he’d find himself wondering with stupid hope if he’d catch a glimpse of Scaramouche.
He knew it was just the Fae’s allure, it was natural to be drawn to them. He knew this but he was still mildly insulted that he wasn’t yet called in for the deal. Kazuha should dread the possibility, but he doesn’t. He wanted to see Scaramouche again. The temptation called deep from within the woods, it spurred him awake at night, disrupting dreams of graceful hands and arrogant smiles. Find him.