As the sun rose across the western mountains of the Heiwadani Valley, a dove took flight from her nest. She soared above the treetops of the Mumbling Wood, where the Kodama were just beginning to shake themselves awake with the dawn. Frost covered their leaves, a final present from winter as it gave way to spring. Those tree spirits groaned out greetings to one another in a language more ancient than men. Other, smaller animals scurried from their dens to get an early start on the day's foraging. A pack of fūri- feline, monkey-like beasts with more arms than sense- leapt from branch to branch and cried out in voices eerily close to human speech if not for a certain, monstrous quality to them. The dove knew to keep well clear of the pack. It veered to north, where it joined briefly with a flock of other birds headed toward the mountains. There was safety in numbers, after all.
The dove broke off from the flock to crest the mountains, carried on wings that could not tire. It glimpsed the world beyond the valley, illuminated by the early morning light. The sight filled even its heart with an equal mix of awe and terror alike. It did not linger long to wonder at the world, however, for it saw something else that caught its attention. Far below it- where the mountains split and a pass descended into the valley- it saw movement. The dove descended to land on a nearby rock, watching with curiosity and apprehension alike.
"Finally." Ashida Katsuro muttered as he dismounted his horse. Hours of riding left his legs cramped and burning with exhaustion. He pulled off his helmet, his dark, sweat-slicked hair falling down the sides of his face. His jaw was covered in something too long to be stubble but too short to be a beard. His ears were bleary with a lack of sleep. It had been too long since he'd been to a proper barber, he noted with distaste. Too long since he'd slept. Too long since he'd been home. Katsuro let out a sigh and took a few moments to stretch on the cold, rocky surface of the mountain's 'road'- if one could even call it a road anymore. Its pavement was cracked and covered in holes deep enough to break a horse's leg if it misstep.
"Do you fair well, captain?" Another man asked as he walked up the road to stop beside Katsuro, who answered his concern with only a grunt. He was ten years Katsuro's junior, barely a man, yet their commander had insisted he ride with the company for this journey. He was Ogata Hotaru, a short, slender boy as pale as porcelain that might've been pretty if not for the horrific burn scar that covered the left side of his face. He looked away from the other man and down the pass, to the giant, red structure that dominated the pass. "This must be the gate of the gods..." He muttered, awestruck.
"The gates to hell, more like." A third voice rumbled as Onisawa Shigeru lumbered up beside them. He was an oxen of a man, taller than anyone else Katsuro had ever met and just as wide. His gut nearly burst out of his robes, and the leather straps of his hack-job plate armor looked ready to snap. He clutched a gargantuan war club in his right hand that no one else in the company could even lift, let alone swing. "I do not like this place, captain. Feels like my skin is crawlin' off my bones just standing here."
"I never knew you for a craven, Shigeru." Katsuro grinned up at the man. Despite the lightness in his tone, Katsuro understood what his second meant. Something about that gate made his heart leap up into his throat. There was power here, for a certainty. He took it as a sign that they were on the right track. With a heavy sigh he tied back his hair once again and slid his helmet into place. "Break the wards on that thing, Hotaru, and be quick about it. I want to make camp before midday. Half our warriors will be dead in their saddles soon enough."
The young Hotaru nodded solemnly and approached the gate, and the dove watched in abject horror as the boy's skin began to glow beneath his robes and the magical wards that had protected the valley for three hundred years dimmed for the first time. A column of mounted men in patchwork armor of leather lamellar and steel plates rode through the gate unopposed. The dove took flight with all haste away from that place, soaring through the pass and straight for the Mumbling Wood.
--
To the east of all this, in the center of the valley, the village of Heiseina began to awaken, slow and trepidatious as it was. Roosters call to one another at the coming of the sun. Villagers lit their lamps and rose from their beds to make breakfast. An old man, eyes still heavy and red, steps outside his door with a giant sack in his hands. Reaching within he produces a handful of roasted soybeans, tossing them out into the street in front of his house. A neighbor on the opposite side of the road chucks them from the safety of her window; perhaps never even leaving her bed at all. Just about everyone would join them soon enough- those with the common sense to understand the Yokai and the bad fortune they can bring down on the disrespectful.
"eight weeks," the old man grumbles, his voice like the rasp of rocks grinding against rocks, "eight more weeks of winter! Salt the shimmer, I told Takamori- told him that girl was no good."
A broom cracked him over the shoulder, causing him to shout in a mix of pain and surprise. His wife lowered it to the ground, still rubbing the sleep from her eye. "Pull the turds outta yer teeth. What if the lady heard ya gobbin' off? If she was willin' to do her own kin in-"
"Balderdash! T'was the hag that did them in. That dumb, poor girl couldn't get a tanuki to scratch its scrotum. We never had long winters when the shrine maiden was around. I remember this one autumn, perhaps twenty years ago, when..."
And on and on they went as Heiseina slowly, gradually dragged itself from its restful sleep and set about preparing for today's festivities. This marked the first day of a week long celebration of winter turning to spring, culminating in the Dance of the Serpent- when Miorochi is meant to awaken and take to the sky, tearing the cold from the air and begin the changing of the seasons. The week would see the village gathering to eat, dance, compete in games and go through all number of religious rituals to bring good fortune on the year to come. Broken relationships would be fixed, old enemies would make amends, and newborns would be blessed at Miorochi's shrine.
In honor of the occasion, all sorts of decorations were strung from roof to roof, up and around poles, or painted along the cobblestones of the road. Papers dragons were a common sight on top of other imagery of life and spring: colorful bundles of flowers were strung together, cornucopias of fruits and vegetables, and most common were the beans. Hundreds upon hundreds of roasted soybeans being scattered, eaten or spread to make crude shapes. Soybeans were thought to drive away the spirits that brought bad luck.
Unlit lanterns hang via strings running from nearby roofs to the radio tower in the town's central square. Inside them are some of the only electric lightbulbs in the entire valley, wired together and tracing down the tower's side and disappearing into a hole carved into the tinkerer's workshop. More unnatural light shines from behind the curtained windows and under the doorway. Keen watchers might have noticed a similar phenomena on their way home for the previous night's rest. It wasn't unheard of for Anayo to work all throughout the night, though never as often as over this last month.
Near to the shore of Kama's Lake, where the Takamori Estate stands tall and proud, its master meditates in the early morning light. Only one of his students managed to drag herself out here so early, though whether or not she was focused on her inner harmony or struggling to stay awake was yet to be seen. Kenji, despite his age, was as sharp and energized as either of his nephews or his niece. He'd already run the full length of the lake's walking path in the time it took most of the village to drag themselves from their beds. With slow, measured breaths, he took in the morning as he always did.
Yet Fumiko knew the old man well enough to know something was different today. There was an ever so slight tremble in his hands that he was trying and failing to calm. A deep furrow along his brow seemed to form and disperse every fifteen or so seconds, as if he had worries he could not quell. Kenji took a final exhale and let his eyes slide open so he could look to the horizon. Some imperceptible thing clouded his ordinarily cheery gaze, like a grey sky hours before a storm.
"How I wish I could remain in this moment forever." He muttered. His voice was a river, deep and meandering. "Time marches on, however, and there is much to do." He turned his head just so he could catch Fumiko's gaze. "And I'll be delegating a great deal of it to you, Fumiko. I hope you're up for it! Come, walk with me, and we shall talk." Kenji stood, beckoning her to follow him as he began to pace down the manor's steps and into the gardens that surrounded the estate.
"First we must ensure the noon performance is ready. I trust Miss Hayashi is prepared, but it is always best to double check." Kenji lifted a finger, wiggling it a bit- his usual sign to 'note that down' that he gave whenever he was delivering a lesson. "Head over to her abode and ensure everything is ready. Give her any help she needs setting up. She is the opening act of the day, so the tone must be just so. Even the slightest misstep could have disastrous consequences for the rest of the week's mood!" Perfection was impossible, yet always demanded- that was the Takamori code. Yet even as he spoke he seemed...distracted. His vision still clung to western mountains, where the sun rested atop those stony peaks.
Near silent paws patter up old stone steps. They stretch, turn and twist along the hill at the edge of town, passed small shrines covered in offerings, flowers and trinkets of all sorts. Those paws are quiet, yet they're quick-- quick as lightning. They bound up three steps at a time, nearly slipping on wet, broken stone in their hurry to reach the peak.
When the fox finally reached the hill's zenith, where an archway led into the shrine proper, it dropped what was in its mouth and began to make a racket. Its odd yips could almost be mistaken for language, but even as an animal the urgency in its noises could not be mistaken. When the shrine's cartaker finally emerged the creature nudged the object it had carried and dropped to the floor: a scroll case. Kitsune were said to be the messengers of the gods, yet...those were only stories for children. Myths passed down from the ages. In reality they were a bunch of aimless tricksters whose only purpose was to spread mischief...right?
But there was the scroll case. And inside, a message:
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