Strongest Among the Heavens
Chapter 455: The Gifts

Chapter 455: The Gifts

"These carvings..." Pat, pat, pat. The famed samurai was really trying to get her attention. Marta was too deep in her thoughts to care. "What are they? Any guesses?"

"Oh, those?" Kojiro retreated, a tinge annoyed, and crossed his arms. He grew curious too, analyzing to no avail. They were mirrors of each other with their arms crossed and their heads tilted. "Izanami was agitated last I heard. She has been seeing the same view for years and it has only grown stronger. That is what they say anyway."

"A view...?"

"Of the Hydra."

Kojiro pointed at the stone markings; of Yamata-no-orochi.

"The one that consumes magic."

Marta’s eyes followed the flames again. "The black tower...the Heavenly Tower...?" Her gaze flicked over to Kojiro. "You mentioned that people lose their wills here, right? How come you haven’t?"

"I am Sasaki Kojiro."

"..."

A beat passed. "Obviously, not all of Yomi is the same. Some are...moderately habitable, although perhaps that is being too generous. There is no satisfaction from eating or drinking—and we cannot cultivate any food or drinks either. We are spirits that simply roam. The ones here in Matsue are said to be among the oldest, born from when Japan was first founded. With age comes not despair but doddery."

"Right, right..."

"Rumours spread. Word spread. In that aspect, our realms are the same."

"Right..."

"...you don’t seem to be listening to me."

"Mhm. These carvings," she muttered, going forward to touch them. "Why are they here?"

"Perhaps your hearing is going—"

"Why does Izanami care? Why does Izanami have a stone wall? As a goddess, shouldn’t she have—I don’t know—a vision. She’s a literal goddess, and not just any goddess, a mother creation goddess. I don’t know much about gods but from everything I’ve read, us humans are only capable of scratching the surface of what they do. In fact, some of our greatest spells are based on what we saw the gods themselves do. Humans are like an artificial reenactment."

"Hrm."

Look at origin stories of humanity. Almost every time, these words are mentioned, "Humans are created in the image of god."

Or:

"Humans were created with love from god."

Marta blinked and remembered there was a second wall. She walked over. Kojiro stayed looking at Yamata-no-orochi and the black tower.

The second wall...

"What is this...?"

A formless abyss twisted into the shape of a gaping maw. Under the abyss were people. Figures that appeared in twisted agony, arms raised to claw at their faces. It was as though the very presence of the abyss caused them to react and tear at themselves. Between the cracks of the carving, red veins of mineral deposits ran like dried blood, making the figures seem as if they had once truly bled.

Above the people and above the abyss was a jagged celestial halo. It was...shattered, its pieces drifting downward. Marta squinted.

’The shattered pieces...have inscriptions.’

"Darn. If Kazi was here, he could read what this says. This language." A finger touched the tiny inscriptions. "What language is this? Vaguely from the Afro-Asiatic language family. Semitic."

"Hm." Sasaki Kojiro was suddenly near her, humming. "So strange."

"What is? Did you find something?"

"You are. Your future."

"Huh...?"

"I have never met an educated woman. I have heard rumours of noble daughters being able to read. I have not many myself or seen them in action. However, you are no noble and yet you are educated."

"Yeah, I, ah, come from a pretty normal family."

A bit rich but definitely not noble.

"A normal woman with a sense of self and intelligence? So strange."

"I really can’t tell if you’re complimenting me or not..."

"The greatest loss is what we ignore inside ourselves while we are still alive. I am a samurai. I follow a bushido, but not all bushidos are the same. Our bushido varies; by clan, by person. Some still believe in the despicable act of Tsujigiri." Sasaki Kojiro saw her puzzled eyes. He laughed. "You know of our gods and practices and not this? That is good. It means the future has lost it. Tsujigiri means to do a crossroad kill; to test your katana on a lower-class man. When I was younger, I saw many exercise their blades on people, citing their bushido and their need to grow. It was but an excuse to harm others, that was all. Only ten years ago was the act of Tsujigiri banned. Not that there was much of a point. By then, I had already duelled and slain any that still practiced it."

"I feel like you’re trying to get somewhere..."

"My words are finally sinking in, hm? Marta Kowalski...do not turn back. You may look. You may listen. You may understand. But do not turn back to the past. Do not pull yourself to times of a bygone era. Learn from them. Do not be consumed by them. Whether it is the era of the samurai or the era of your childhood...let the past be a memory that you wield for your future. The future, the present, they are better than the times that came before."

He pointed.

"You are evidence of that brighter, better future."

Sasaki smiled. From the sleeve of his black kimono, he brought out a red fan and the dark blue mask of Fujin the wind god. He dropped down on one knee.

"I ask this of you, woman of the future. Protect the future of Japan."

"This is..."

"The one and only gift I received from a deity. A divine weapon that I received during the Ōmi-Genji Festival. The Sasaki Clan, my clan, have protected and worshipped a shrine in Fujin’s name for centuries. Since the time of my great ancestor, Sasaki Yamagimi, and during my adolescence when I proclaimed samurai, Fujin gifted me this mighty weapon, Shippūga. But to complete its power, I required his mask. I travelled our lands and did so. Now...I gift both to you, My Lady, the same way our great god did."

Marta’s mouth opened, then closed. "Thank you, Lord Sasaki Kojiro." She didn’t know what to do exactly except to lower herself and accept the gift. "I will do everything I can—or die trying."

Sasaki did not look at her. Shame. Reverence. Whatever he felt, she did not know and Marta knew she never would. The Fujin mask and the Shippūga, was a family heirloom like no other.

She could only accept such precious things.