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  “Shall I build up the fire?” I asked.

  “Mmm,” he said.

  I did so and closed the curtain over the window again despite how it made the sickly sweet scent of blood suffocate me. I killed more moths, but they somehow got in even with the hide noren at the door and the curtain over the window. I hated them.

  He watched me through slitted eyes. I tried to smile at him, but it felt like my face was made of ice and the smile was a chisel that threatened to crack it. I turned away so he wouldn’t see my tears.

  “Anata.” His voice came out hoarse. He held a hand out to me.

  I took it and sank to my knees at his side.

  “Will you share memory moss with me?” He sounded like a child begging for sugar fruit. It was so sad to see him this way.

  “I will share with you.” I stroked the worn leather of his fingers. This was the last chance I might have to convince him of Faith’s goodness. “There is something I must share with you. You might despise me afterward, but it would be selfish if the only reason I didn’t give you this memory is because of what you might think of me. More importantly, this vision might not be something that brings you joy or eases your pain because it isn’t a happy memory.”

  “I trust your judgment,” he croaked. “If you feel this is important enough to show me, then so be it.”

  I used moss so fresh and moist I didn’t need to crush it with the mortar and pestle. As I squeezed it in my fingers, a flare of sensation flooded up my arms in an icy-hot wave. As I pressed my hand to his chest, I closed my eyes and showed him Faith’s memory in the spaceship with her sister. I gave him the pain she had suffered at the hands of her own people and how her sister would always fight against those who had taken so much from her. I showed him the doubt in Faith’s mind, not the doubt that her sister did right to oppose their oppressors, but the doubt that fighting would work. I showed him her fear of her people, of her knowledge of medicine and vaccines, and that she was safe to be in contact with the Jomon.

  When the memory slipped away, I was only left with impressions. I knew I had given him Faith’s memory and that it was small. In my eyes it had validated the trueness of her heart, but I already knew her heart. Shiromainu Nipa did not.

  I rested my head against Shiromainu’s shoulder. More than anything I wanted to sleep beside him one last time.

  He sighed, a cough following. “Do you understand why I cannot say I have seen Faith-chan’s memory?” It didn’t escape my notice he said her name correctly.

  “Because it would condemn me for misuse of memory moss and performing memory exchange with a woman. I know. I am prepared for the consequences.”

  He snorted. “You may be, but I am not.” His next cough was a wet battle in his chest. I held out the bowl for him to spit into.

  “I have an important edict to announce. Bring me someone who can bear witness. Someone with an authority who you trust.”

  That would be Tomomi Sensei. She slept in the room next to Nipa’s, but she wasn’t there. I had to run to the practice field to fetch her. In hindsight, I should have sent someone to fetch her, but I wasn’t comfortable giving orders to my elders yet.

  When I returned with her, fresh crimson dripped down his chin and more blood moths lingered in the air. Nipa was so still I didn’t even hear the rattle of his phlegm. My heart seized in panic. What if he had died in the time I’d been gone? I hadn’t been there to give him comfort in his last moments. I had failed to listen to his last words—words that I had hoped favored Faith.

  I placed a hand on Nipa’s shoulder. He flinched and coughed up a blood moth. That was my fault. I should have been there to swat them away. I wiped away the wetness from his eyes and the crimson stains on his chin.

  Tomomi knelt and bowed. Her rough voice was surprisingly gentle. “Nipa, what important words do you wish us to hear?”

  “Am I of sound mind to give you an order?” he asked.

  She bowed lower. “Yes, as far as I can tell.”

  “Then you will announce my words for me, ne? I ask that the counsel waits six months before naming a new nipa.” Each word came out like it was a battle to pronounce. “In that time, I wish Sumiko-san to serve in my place as temporary leader. Her commands are to be treated with the same validity as mine would be. She will continue to give the council her advice on matters of electing a new leader.”

  “And if I invite all in the Chiramantepjin tribe to join us here? Will they permit Faith-chan as well?” I asked.

  “One gaijin … so much love for one … gaijin.” He closed his eyes. I didn’t know if he meant my love or Taishi’s. “She may stay as a guest until the new leader decides her fate. In six months’ time, that might be Taishi Nipa or Tomomi Sensei. If it is Makiri-san, be aware: he may decide it’s too dangerous for Faith-san to know of our secret stronghold. If he is elected, your friend’s fate will be death.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  One happy memory given freely can warm a heart all winter long.

  —Tanukijin proverb

  Tomomi bowed and backed away as if to leave.

  “Stay,” he said. “I’m not done with you yet.”

  She froze and waited for his orders.

  He struggled to speak through his labored breaths. “I have one last memory to give to Sumiko-sama. It is a memory passed down from nipa for nipa for generations. It is something she will pass on to you should you become the next nipa.”

  Considering memory moss was forbidden between women, I was surprised he said this. He didn’t mention my brother as a possibility as nipa. Either that meant he didn’t believe Taishi would become leader, or he didn’t expect me to give this memory to my brother.

  He was seized by a bout of coughing and we waited for it to pass. “You must help my little anata. This memory might be too much for her.”

  She tilted her head to the side, her furrowed brow giving away her curiosity.

  He looked to me. “What I’m about to share with you mustn’t be shown or told to anyone else. Do you understand?”

  I nodded. I untied my attush and let it fall to the floor as I leaned in so he could reach me. He was so weak his hands trembled. I placed his hands on my collarbone and closed my eyes.

  Darkness swallowed me. I had the sensation I was sinking into water, swept up by a current. A pinprick of white in front of me opened into a yawning mouth of light. I blinked and I was there.

  The memory tasted different from the others Shiromainu had shared with me. I was distant enough from the memory to know who I was and that I wasn’t Shiromainu. This wasn’t his mind or his memory. That was my last conscious thought before more of myself slipped away and I sank more deeply into the man’s body.

  I crawled through the stone passage, the journey tight in this large body. It was cooler here than it had been outside. Sweat still clung to my skin, making my thighs chaff against my testicles so I had to adjust my loincloth. My back scraped the low ceiling, and every few feet I had to hoist up my belt that was getting pushed off. I dragged the box of memory moss used for courtship with me.

  A light up ahead grew brighter.

  The journey was tedious: hand-hand-foot-foot-drag. My body made a rhythm, repeating the pattern. As I paused to adjust my loincloth and belt, I became aware of the faint drumming and clunking. Tick-tick-tick-tick-tock. I crawled again, falling into that beat, moving when the stone spoke to me. The vibration under my body grew stronger. The thrumming echoed through the passage. I couldn’t imagine what kind of instrument made this music.

  Eventually I made it to the light. I thought I would find myself outside, but instead I came to a chamber. The walls danced with purple symbols made of stars. The ceiling above was high enough I could sit up, though so bright I could hardly stand to look at it.

  I took out the box carved spirals and swirls that resembled those on the walls. My fingers smoothed over the worn wood, remembering the day our former nipa had presented it
to Kiror-san—Kiror Nipa—He wasn’t a friend and equal anymore, but my superior from that day on. He had been so proud to receive the box from Eranpokinu Nipa. I should have felt the same pride, but I didn’t.

  I saw Kiror’s stricken expression again. Pain and loss of blood had turned his face pale and ashen. He was young still and had served as a good leader in the two years since he had accepted the position. It wasn’t fair for him to die in an accident. It hadn’t even been in a battle with those Tatsujin or one of their dragons that had attacked. It had been one of our own animals. He had been trying to get a child out of the way of two of our own chiramantep frenzied by the smell of blood when the child had cut himself.

  I had held Kiror in my lap, his blood pouring over me as I tried to stanch it with my attush. His abdomen had been a bloody mess, too mangled to be salvaged by our healers.

  Tears spilled down my face as I remembered my friend’s last words to me. “Tompi-san, I name you nipa. Take the box of memory moss from my room and go to the secret passage in my private courtyard. Use the moss within the box sparingly and use it only this once.”

  “What secret passage?” I asked.

  He opened his mouth. “My dear friend… .” That was all he’d gotten out before vomiting blood.

  I wiped away the tears. My heart was heavy with my loss. I would have gladly traded my rank and new title for my friend’s life.

  It had taken hours to find the secret passage in the stones. And now I was here instead of him.

  I opened the wooden box. The moss within was long, like the old moss that grew on the ceiling of the onsen. Kiror had always said not to pick this moss or destroy it. He was letting it grow for a reason, though he had never told me why.

  Age had made the memory moss dried and brittle. I picked a small section of the moss and crumbled it between my fingers. The dust drifted into the bowl. I doubted it would be fresh enough to work for memory exchange, but then, there was no one here to perform memory exchange with.

  With a sprinkle of water, the dust turned vivid green. The spicy fresh perfume of it filled my nostrils.

  I applied it to my palms and knelt in the center of the room. I closed my eyes, waiting for the wisdom of the ancients to come to me, for I didn’t know what else to do.

  My hands prickled pleasantly. The sensation became so distracting I couldn’t concentrate on clearing my mind. All I could feel was the tingle on my hands, burning like cold fire. Sweat trickled down the back of my neck and my face flushed. The chill in my palms turned to heat, and my hands throbbed with pain. This was unlike any memory moss I’d used before.

  Something was wrong with this moss. Was it too old? Contaminated? I looked to the remnants in the box.

  “Nipa,” a woman whispered.

  I looked around, but I was alone. Was someone calling me from down the tunnel?

  “Who’s there?” I asked.

  “It is I, Sikanna, here to assist you.”

  The purple patterns on the walls turned brighter, whiter. I had to squint to shut out their light. I wanted to rub the sweat from my brow, but I didn’t want to risk getting moss in my eyes.

  “Where are you, Sikanna-san?” My voice sounded far away. It echoed down the tunnel from whence I’d come.

  “I’m here beside you. I’m in the walls and in the floor and the ceiling.” Her voice was distant and close at the same time. “I am the belly of the tatsu. I am the knowledge of your people.”

  The purple light of the dancing symbols shifted and came together. I no longer saw patterns, but a person made of moonbeams sitting before me. Her hair was long and dark and her eyes as black as night. Flickers of light danced across her skin as though she were made of starlight. She knelt across from me on the other side of the wall. Or perhaps there was no wall between us. She smiled.

  I took in a sharp breath. She had to be a kamuy. I’d never believed in spirits, but here I was, facing a kamuy anyway.

  Her voice was soothing and melodious. “There’s no reason to be afraid. I’m the kasha kamuy of your village. Let me help you understand your past, Nipa.”

  I swallowed. This had to be a dream. But my hands throbbed too much to be sleeping.

  “Did Kiror Nipa know about you?” I asked.

  “Indeed. He came to me on the first night of becoming nispa, or nipa as your tribe call it. It seemed like it was such a short time ago.”

  “Two years. He died yesterday.” My throat felt tight and I looked away. I didn’t want to cry and lose face before a kamuy.

  “I’m sorry for your people’s loss. He was a good man and … a good friend to you? But I can already see he chose well for his successor.”

  I shook my head. This was all too much. I hadn’t asked to be nipa. I wasn’t ready for this.

  “You have been named nipa by your people. Are you ready for me to see into your heart? And for you to see into mine? Let our minds become one. I will pass on my knowledge to you.” She held her palms out to me, pressing them to the wall that looked as though it separated us.

  Hesitantly I raised my palms. This wasn’t the way memory exchange was done. Then again, I’d never performed memory exchange with a kamuy, much less met one before. I pressed my palms to the smooth wall. The surface was warm and soft like a woman’s hands. I closed my eyes. Immediately the throbbing in my hands subsided.

  Everything about this memory exchange felt upside down. I was too much in my body and not enough in hers to give a memory, nor accept one.

  My mind turned into the current of the river, rushing forward into hers. Dizziness swept over me and I felt as though I were falling. The direction of the current changed and warmth rushed over me. A tingling pulse coursed through my body. It reminded me of memory moss, only it wasn’t on the surface of my palms. I felt it everywhere. With every breath I took, with every beat of my heart, the hot-cold pulsed inside me. A wave of pleasure washed over me. It faded and another wave came, like the tide of the ocean, pulling me deeper with each lap of water. The sensation built and crested.

  Like a damn breaking, pleasure flooded over me. Ecstasy swept through my limbs, but these limbs didn’t feel human. They felt alien and mechanical. This body wasn’t my own.

  Images flickered in front of my eyes. I saw a field of green moss, as tall as my waist, blowing in the breeze. People who might have been Tanukijin, save for their strange clothes, harvested the moss, careful not to touch it with bare skin. They wore gloves and masks as they collected the longest strands.

  I don’t know how I knew it, but this moss had been growing for hundreds of years.

  Another image came to me, a chiramantep writhing in pain on the ground as it tried to pass a stone. The beast shook its head, horns tearing at the earth. A man slit the chiramantep’s throat. Next he tore into the animal’s belly. He dug until he came to the animal’s kidney. Within he found a glistening red stone. It was larger than any stone I’d ever seen.

  Another image came, the red stones within a metal contraption, round gears pivoting around the rocks. The machine clunked and ticked, creating a pleasant rhythm with its workings.

  A new flash of memory: two women stood in a strange room with windows on every side to the stars. They were in the belly of a tatsu, though how I knew this wasn’t clear. An unfamiliar word came to me, one I had never associated with a tatsu before: starship. The ancients had built the tatsu, their starships. The captain, a silver-haired woman named Miku, with metal bracelets around her wrists, pressed her hand to a place in the wall. Red and yellow lights brightened on the bracelet as her mind left her body and became one with that of the tatsu. Miku spoke with Sikanna and together they found the planet of Aynu-Mosir.

  Sikanna was the largest and most important of the tatsu that came to Aynu-Mosir. She spoke to her sister ships, directed them and cooperated with them so they could best help their human cargos.

  Time shifted. I was now in the jungle. People built the palace around Sikanna’s tatsu.
They replaced her metal arms with stone, and refitted her legs with long passages. Her head became a mixture of materials, stone and wood and plant. Instead of traveling the stars, she was put to other uses. She heated the aquifer and kept her chambers cold in the summer and warm in the winter. She purified the water and protected those who dwelled within her walls. Her gears worked tirelessly, spinning on the red diamond pivots. She repaired and replaced her own parts, slowly and systematically as they broke down. Only her belly remained intact. Here the kamuy dwelled, living forever while the world around her aged and decayed, while her people no longer needed her and forgot about her.

  She no longer spoke to her sister tatsu. She no longer spoke to anyone.

  Between these visions, the purple symbols flashed before my eyes. But these weren’t patterns arranged only for the purpose of pleasing the eye. There was meaning in these lines and combinations. What had seemed to be random now become clear. They were numbers.

  Equations and mathematical formulas rushed across the walls and into my hands. At first I understood, or thought I did. This was the secret of space and time and creation. It was how my ancestors had traveled the stars to Aynu-Mosir. More numbers rushed into me, speeding by so quickly I couldn’t understand their meaning. They flashed and pushed at me like tangible beings. More strings of numbers came. It was too much at once. I couldn’t fix on any one thing. The excessive swell made nausea rise in me. I tried to close my eyes to it, but this was all I could see.

  Knowledge came surging into me, burning in a blinding flash like lightning. Everything was jumbled and out of order. I was drowning in images. Men and women in strange, form-fitting clothes who worked in the tatsu’s belly came in one flash. In the next I saw strange beasts growing in clear vials. More writing and math and documentation tried to push their way into my mind. Voices spoke to me: Sikanna, my ancestors, and the tatsu clunking in its own tongue. They smothered me with their voices. My head ached. I couldn’t breathe. My mind felt as though I would explode. I didn’t think I could take anymore.