A Twisted Tale- Rin's Tale

Rin sat in his basement art studio looking over his portfolio of works. Around the room were sketches and paintings in various stages of work in progress and finished. He’s had hundreds of years to perfect his pictures, but none spoke life like the ones of the soul he sought. He sat in front of a few rough sketches of the girl he drew his name from.

Bridgette, the sweet maid that had been helping the children in ways he couldn’t. She was warm and kind. That had cost her everything. When he heard, he left the continent and stayed gone. Part of his years were in Avalon and visiting the Atlantean Archives for information on the pact. It was a distraction because he was weary.

He had sought after this enchanted damnation for over four hundred years and he was still falling short. Baldr, the Norse bard of tales told him of ways to sway the delicate soul but he was warrior sized and battle honed, not gifted with words.

Many wondered how Rin made the painting “Sovereign’s Dance” sparkle with inner light unusual in still art. He told articles and interviewers alike that it had been a passing dream that he expounded on. It was a beautiful lie; the words hollow soon as they sprung from his throat. The truth was more insane and unbelievable to the common man. Common was a state he knew nothing of. It was a memory of time long ago when he encountered the soul he was tracking when he least expected it.

Centuries before, Thorin had traveled to a land that once belonged to Asia Major in a land called Japan. He paid for passage on a Dutch trading ship to put distance and insurmountable sorrows to rest and set forth on another leg of his journey. After soothing his wounds in the Atlantean Archives, he came aground with renewed purpose and same gall. He looked at ship maps and plotted where he could escape the soulless bustle of the growing cities. This small island country was the most populated place he could think of where he could be unfound. Months later, they reached the island port in the area called Dejima.

Over several days of traveling by foot, oxen cart and small river boat, he came across a village deep in the mountains. He passed unusual flora and fauna that book did not proclaim so well. There were small creatures that scuttled along tree branches. He saw large trees that were as big as the laurels of Avalon. The only thing he saw more massive was Yggdrasil or the World Tree. The land’s inhabitants were surprised to see a man his size amongst their slender frames and different tones. He was tall by even the other world’s standard for mortals. He was tall as a small horse and stout as a barrel. His brown and auburn hair was tied back with a strand of worn leather hide Bridgette had gifted him before being called away. His eyes were like the sapphires in a royal jewel. Such a rich blue that even the highest paid artists couldn't recreate it. He would know, he sought after the most difficult shades.

The people here had thick hair as dark as printer’s ink that fell in straight sheets like heavy cotton bolts. Their eyes were oval shaped at a slant and were characteristically dark brown and almost black. Most were short in stature not unlike the wee ones of Ireland. He noticed that noble classes were holding of unusual, shaped swords but not the common man. Even though their looks were so varied, many held similar traits. Hardworking and proud. They had honor and pride in their goods and wares. It ignited Rin. After being treated as a nobleman for many years, he needed a moment's reprieve. It was time to return to humbler roots like his childhood in Avalon, before things became complicated.

There was a barrier that he had yet breeched, the local tongue. Asia had languages that were not common as French, Latin and German of his recent hovels. He tried to use gestures to convey meanings, but sometimes were nonexistent or complicated things more. So far, they had a few signs that he realized as food, fish, hunt, pray and work. It was rudimentary at the most inconvenient of ways. Thorin, listening to the language realized his gift from Athena would be immeasurable. He had bartered for a blessed gift known as Wisdom’s grace. This is what allowed him speech in the tongue of whomever he encountered. It was a small metal coin that had to touch his skin for it to work. As he listened to the villagers with understood tongue, he gained valuable lessons on grief, acceptance and one’s own worth.

It had been a few months and the family had kept him. He accompanied the husband to the market and to fish. He often helped the second daughter and mother with the field work pulling exotic radishes, potatoes and rice for sale and meals. In return, he showed the younger children a way to hunt with sling shots and traps to snare small game for heartier meals. He often chopped wood and carried the bulk of the harvest, choosing harder work to show his gratitude and honor the heads of the family he imposed on.

Late one night while the moon peaked over the mountain tops, Thorin tossed and turned. His loss of Bridgette recent to him even though it had been one hundred years since. He had reoccurring terrors of sleep where he was looked away in special cell. It overlooked the gallows where her slight body swayed listlessly like the satin square. Each time he called for her, the body would turn for him to see the blank, glossy appearance. Sometimes, he saw the council pillaging Avalon to remove the passage that was lost to mortal time. The lush, ever blooming fruit trees dead and the black soot and ash traveling across the seas to devoured by tides. Dreams as such made Rin startle awake. His Ma would say bad dreams were memories that were tucked away. As a boy, his Ma’s words were truth. Now, he knew that she was trying to comfort him but also make him be cognizant that memory can be altered and influenced. With much inner debate and passionate prose, he conceded that the land of dreams would not allow entry that night. Gently moving away from the fire pit, he stepped outside after bundling in the spare, heavier fur mantles.

The unyielding winter chill swept through covering the earth in a blanket of white, crystalline snow and fallen branches. He wandered along the path encouraged by the delicate glow of the moon. Its ephemeral radiance blanketed the landscape in a filter of serene still. Trees tall and strong were bare of foliage creating thickets of light that cast shadows long and lean. Thorin had heard of the Gods and Demons of the land. Most being smaller entities and others being full of vigor and deeds. As he wandered, not even the cold breath flickering in the hazy light could distract his thoughts.

“Bridgette...” Her name spilt from his mouth like a mourning prayer as he recalled hearing word of her hanging. He had come to this distant land to escape the mounting pressures of a noble. Cursed class of vain fools tittering and speaking riddles to pass their waning youth. He scoffed at the young Duke's proposal and dismissal of the servants that helped feed his legacy. His ignorance or misinformed thoughts erased the kind servant girl from his great- grand father's history as he had removed her like spoiled hunt. It angered the demi-god enough to make it his eternal work to ensure the ruination of that man was at his hand. Reaching the lower rice field, he considered the servant girl. He knew her story was hers to tell but it stopped him from wondering about the body and soul of her theater drama.

Thorin (the family called him Furitsu-dono as their tongue had concerns of pronunciation) turned with a weighted sigh to head back to the dwelling. His nerves calmed by the evening’s embrace and body yearning for the house: warmth and security. Deep, shrouded in the trees, a soft, comely voice pierced his thoughts. It carried on the wind like leaves falling in the autumn season. Curious about where and what the voice came from, he changed his steps to head toward a small river that froze over. It had a low, sweet timbre that glided like the maestro trained composers that fed it.

There bathed in the lights of eternity, stood Rin. She was the old farmer's second daughter not yet married. Her skin was covered in deep violet and indigo-colored fabrics with long sleeves to protect from the winter chill. Her tapestry of ebony fell neatly to her waist as it swayed to the words she uttered. The voice from her mouth was low and soft but full and beckoning. It filled him more than the meals shared during his stay. Behind her waif form was the river glinting with icy tranquility. He would wager that the pond the river fed was almost completely frozen as well.

“Wisteria blossoms so bright

Sway and spring with vigor

Bare silk to the ai plant

Shabu shabu

Plum tree with fruit so low

Blessings from the gods above

Long night with Tsukiyomi’s grace

Bred life in the wheels cycle”

He had never seen such graceful movements from even the ladies of the court. Peaks of skin shifted behind fabric with the swirls of the sea tide. The barest glimpse of wrist seemed to flirt with the chill and tantalize the spirits of the land. When she turned, her eyes never opened and he was all the more relieved. The woman's cheeks were flush from the cold’s caress but she continued to move to her soft hum.

“Cherry blossoms fall

When fish spawn

Rice grows hardy and plenty

Sons and husbands serve the Lords

Daughters swell with babes

Doki Doki

snow falls like frozen tears

life slumbers and wait for wisteria”

So melodic were the words carting through his soul, he never felt more at peace as he did in that moment. Thorin had noticed the strong presence that clung to the woman’s frame like fragrant oils. He’d been concerned if this woman was the one that the archive spoke of, he could embrace it. The tall Norseman headed into the thick foliage, hardy even in this climate. He didn't want the awkward tension tainting and befouling the air if she noticed him. Quickly going into the home, mantles discarded, he saw to the embers getting low and added a few small logs to stave off the chill of his return. Unable to rest soundly, Thorin sought out the enchanted parchment and coal made from the world tree’s bark and Granna Laurel's sap and twigs. The image of Rin fresh on his mind, ripe for nonverbal articulation.

He thought of her precise and enchanted movements as dainty lines formed. His hand was quick to lay her features bare to memory; letting his inner eye polish the fine details as one with fancy loafers and exquisite tableware. Before he was aware, a draft full and strong blew in as she moved quickly to enter and regain the lost heat.

Rin’s scotch brown orbs shone with a mahogany cover as the glowing embers cast shadows in the room and calmed the wind burn. Removing her traveling cloak and furs, her soft measured steps carried her as if she floated to the recessed pit.

“Is everything well, Ms. Rin?” his voice was low in pitch but carried like the prayers from the temples on a clear day.

“Please forgive my inconsiderate ways, Furitsu-dono. Please take rest.”

As she moved to resituate herself in the tattered blankets, Thorin found himself asking yet another question.

“If I may inquire, why do you dance till the spirits come?” She hesitated and looked up from under long, sooty lashes that kissed the top of cream-colored flesh. She gave a quick poke at the fire with an iron pole before moving back to her sleeping space.

“My ancestors see my dance as an offering to the kami to bless our family and bring good crops to our village. For no offer has been made for my hand. It is a small price to help my family.” She laid back on her flat bed and he watched in silence. The large man thought long about her words as his hand continued to move languidly across the fibers. Not sure of how long he’d been in that spot, Thorin thought of his own mother’s sacrifices. It wasn’t his place to comment but it stayed with him.

Quiet as a whisper of silk, he heard the same voice carry among the intricate flames, fluid and strong like the rush of water currents that claimed those unfortunate enough to wade in.

“I dance for you to run. The past never is forgotten. Just scattered like cherry blossoms.”

He looked at Rin but she never moved. Thorin took one last glance at the sketch he started and tucked it back into the satchel he carried and laid down too. He would ponder the words once he had more rest and time to reflect.

Each time Rin thought of that night, chills appeared and was followed by gooseflesh. She would sing in that low, but delicate voice and her voice would weave. Tapestries of light, air, petals and spiritualized ether seemed to cloak her in a Wisteria Kimono. When he asked why she always wore a purple or indigo cloak, she had told him that she couldn't afford those dyes. She further explained how wisteria means longevity and even resilience when speaking the flowers’ tongue.

Every time she danced her cloak gave the appearance of being tinted in shades of purple to him. With every season, her steps grew sure, and her beauty grew more noticeable with each lunar cycle. One night, it became clear her origins.

He was walking the well-worn path to the river where he first saw her offering to the region’s deities. He had brought his satchel as there was an image in his mind he hoped to catch. It was mid spring and the trees had vibrant, light green buds filling the blank canvas. Little white blooms were arriving in time to lure wildlife to suckle them and spread their nectar. The river had thawed and became home again for large, colorful koi fish decorated with varying shades of white, orange and black. He knew from the market, there was a festival for good crops coming up. Thorin had surmised that the lone woman would offer her beautifully, entrancing movements sure as the sun rose and fell.

With the moon high in the sky, bathing the mountains in a soft glow, Thorin could almost see the bridge between worlds. The veil between mortal and ethereal shimmered in the stars between the ill-fated lovers. There was a spot that hid innocuously in plain vision where he could watch and add details to his works.

With barely a sound Rin appeared in front of the river. She cleaned her mouth, hands and feet in the water before kneeling and offering prayers. She sat up a stick of fragrant oils and ash that she ignited then blew out the flame. A tendril of smoke rose and curled lazily as she prepared herself.

The man watched quietly taking in the change to her demure and subservient nature to embody grace and self-assurance. The quiet prayer she said rose and began the words of the song he once heard many cycles ago. Her arms swayed as she took smooth, measured steps in the river’s edge. He found himself captured by her movements but there was something odd this time. Rin’s black hair appeared waved like the sea and had a sheen of auburn like Bridgette’s. Eyes that were unfocused stared in assurance to his viewing spot. Eyes no longer the color of coal gleamed with heavenly fire. The voice sang familiar words, but it sounded as if four different voices joined in their chorus.

Thorin felt time stop. It was here! The soul he had to find and return. Before he could gather his thoughts, the voices heeded him.

“Son of the Eldest Bard, step none toward I. No explanation will herald my return to ones so cruel. My being is confirmation of their misdoings and I have naught a reason to be hunted as such beast that plagues these lands. Take refuge in the Temple of Tsukiyomi no Mikoto. Seek none but shall be found you are. Til truth is sought, my soul shall never be caged. Leave me to my peace and tranquility.”

The voices were firm with their warning as Thorin bowed to them. The water of the river lapped at the shore where Rin stood. The brilliant light fled her form to the water below and trailed upstream. Quietly, the young woman started a graceless decent to the earth. Sounds of whispering silks and flesh thudding into a heap shook the immortal being to action.

He swiftly gathered her small body into his arms and carried her back to the home. Her mother took care to wick fever from her brow as her father took a horse into town for a healer. They sat outside as the healer listened to her and looked about. The smaller children picked wildflowers. The father filed his pipe and stared stoically to the mountains. Thorin was sure he saw none of the majestic landscape before him. When the makeshift door opened and the healer came out, his face was grave. He left herbal poultices that were meant to help stave off her ills and tea for brewing to boost her strength. He left after saying these things would be noticeable in the next few nights. With payment collected and gifts given for the trouble the healer took leave.

Word was sent to the eldest daughter who came, heavy with child; her husband and oldest by her side. They prayed and made offerings at the local shrines. Thorin found himself praying and looking for local fae for help. It had been five days and her fever remained. Her fair cheeks were rosy red as sweat budded upon her brow and upper lip. She convulsed and grew still in cycles as all kept vigil. One day, the foreign man offered to stay behind and care for the dancing maiden. Her parents reluctantly agreed as crops had to be maintained and need for all was necessary.

Thorin was cautious to change the herbal wraps timely but at no time did she stir. A smell hung in the air rank and putrid almost choking him. He sat quietly and sketched until the smell grew to alarming rates. It hung over the house, lingering like the plague in England years before. The smell of flesh decomposing and rotting off the bone was hard to ignore. His hand stalled as he realized what happened. The damned soul he was chasing took its life force that day. Rin’s body strong when holding it safely but when cornered, it had fled, taking the very essence from the Japanese maiden. Anguish deep and chaotic bloomed deep in his chest. Aching pains gripped at his soul and he felt his eyes burn anew as if the ash of the pit blew in. Tears were things for the women and children, not the warriors who returned. Yet, his heart was heavy with the sorrow of loss, and he didn’t know how to tell her parents.

A rattling sound hissed out as he sat vigil at her side. A whispering breath was taken and shakily released as her body went slack and the weak rise and fall of her chest ceased. He stood and looked outside for anyone to call the family and saw her sister washing the hides that they had collected. He forgot that she was outside because the smell was troubling her delicate constitution, but he was afraid to give her the news.

Thorin approached her and went to his knees immediately. His posture was a full bow of remorse and servitude prostrate before her and he uttered the words no one ever wants to hear about their kin. Looking up he was swift to catch the woman as she fell, faint from the shock. Quickly he called out for help to whoever could hear. Two young children came pulling an older lady with them. She hobbled over and instructed him to lay her down gently while she sent the children two ways. One was sent to the fields to gather the women’s family and the other to fetch the healer once more. The foreigner sat quietly as the women gave him instructions low and kindly and she knew he needed tasks to help his composure. He brought rags soaked in water and fur mantles she could lay on to recover from her shock.

Voices traveled on the wind as he heard feet on road and the clopping of hooves approaching. The small children on the horse with the healer shimmied down with the healer’s help and the moved to help guide the horse. Rin’s father and brother by marriage came swiftly as the mother came with the smaller children. Thorin explained that he was having a hard time hearing Rin breathe and the healer ducked into the home first. The visit was short and he came out quickly to deliver the heartbreaking news. He bowed and moved to the woman swollen with babe and checked her over. The kind village woman moved to assist the family in readying things to move Rin and watch the children while their grief struck harshly. The sister was fine and recovering from the stress of the news. The healer detected nothing amiss from the babe and deemed her safe to let rest. Thorin quietly gave the healer a bottle of plum wine, a bolt of the hides that had dried and twenty- four mon.

That evening, her family began the burial rites. Rin’s body was removed of the ink black hair and body washed and cloaked in white cotton. He held her mother as Rin was placed in a round basin that he found was common for burials in Japan. Her sister woke and began working with the mother to light candles and incense as well as food for offering. Through the night, people of the small village came in and prayed quietly and offered kind words and strength to the stricken family. He heard prayers being

Morning came on swiftly and yet, slowly as if frozen like the lake he first saw her dance. Her last rites were much different from the ways he saw in other parts of the world; the lingering deluge of sorrow tasted the same. Her ashes were placed in a small shrine in the corner of the room. Along the path to the river was a small rise that Thorin never paid any mind. Climbing the small incline, he noticed it gave a glimpse into the riverbed. There, he planted a small wisteria tree nearby for protection of those who traveled the worn path. After the fiftieth day had passed, Thorin returned to Europe to travel once more, tired of running from his past.

He sat aside his well-worn sketch pad and charcoal; both being placed in the charmed satchel he always carried. As Thorin's eyes started to flutter closed, the words "Please rest well" brushed his ear like a flirtatious kiss in that long remembered voice. The voice that gave thanks to the gods and humbled themselves to the elements for family. Nights that contained memories of Japan, the scent of wisteria and smoke caressed his nose.