[story] the legend of the horse & girl (angry souls remix)
author: REI
He comes to the tengu in the middle of the night.
"Tengu," the god booms, and the tengu flutters his feathers in reverence as he bows till his beak touches the ground.
"My lord," he says, and waits.
There is a long pause before the god speaks again.
"I want her."
She is the daughter of a common farmer, with hair like black gold and eyes that look perpetually sad.
She toils in her father's rice fields until her skin is burnt brown like the soil she works on, but her mouth turns up at the corners and when she laughs, the sun comes out to look. Her hands are stained but she smells like the earth, and the sky.
The god watches the way her fingers touch the golden husks, and feels a silent thudding in his chest. He touches the stalks of rice long after she has gone, and asks the rice for the opinion.
She is kind, the rice whispers, she talks to us, even when many of her kind do not. And the god smiles his approval, and looks to the quiet hut she and her father live in.
She does not deserve him, the tengu thinks, and the tree he sits on withers from his resentment.
The tengu does not agree to the situation.
"My lord," he says, "do you know what this will mean?"
It is a fact, not a question.
But the god does not reply.
The tengu bows his head and keeps his beak sealed.
She finds the horse in the middle of winter.
His coat is a glossy black and his eyes, pale blue. He snorts at her, and paws at the frozen ground. There is a wound on his leg, where black flares out angrily into white. The white is caked with mud and blood.
She extends her hand, and he limps over.
The red threads of fate tangle.
"You've grown angry," the boar says to him one day.
The tengu stops, and manages to bow once, "your lordship must be mistaken."
The boar snorts, an earthly sound that reverberates through the mountains; as expected of a mountain god. "Trees are withering from your anger, tengu master. Perhaps it would be best if you did not spend so much time watching the human."
The mountain god's eyes shines golden, and his lips curl up from sharp tusks when he adds, "You know what human emotions do to us."
The tengu does not reply, and the boar's smile fades and he looks towards the west, where the tree line fades to light, and the smell of humans drift into the woods. Without looking at the tengu, he concludes: "We all do."
The tengu wants to say, I am not angry, how can I be when it was his choice?, or perhaps, Why has he chosen such a foolish path, was I not a worthy disciple?
He wishes that the mountain god would not see all, know all.
Instead, his feathers droop and he wonders if he has always felt so helpless in the face of impending disaster.
"My lord," the tengu says as he alights on worn rafters.
"It's been a while, tengu." If horses could smile, then perhaps this one did - this horse with its unnaturally bright eyes and its magnificent black coat.
The tengu scratches at the feed in the worn wooden bucket, left out for mortal birds, in distain. "My lord, the humans are threatening you badly. You should come back," but the last sentence sticks in his throat. Instead, he chooses to scratch insults into the hard timber with his feet.
The horse throws his head back and stomps his hooves against the hay-covered ground. "She could feed me sand, and it would still be food fit for the gods."
The tengu flaps his wings, horrified at the suggestion. "The humans would pay dearly for their blasphemy! I will personally rip them limb from limb for such an insult!"
He isn’t lying when he says this, but the horse neighs and his eyes flash bright blue in the moonlight. Thank you for your concern, Shukou, the horse-god says. It has been a hundred seasons since the god has called his name, and he fluffs up his feathers in pride. He huddles by the rafters and stays till the sun goddess wakes up and paints the sky with her careful fingers.
The tengu doesn't tell him about his conversation with the mountain god.
Two moons later, he sits on a branch and watches the human slip into the stable. The sounds carry lightly on the cold winter air, and the wind god conjures up a storm, just for propriety. He smells them, before he even hears them. The tengu sits on the tree until she creeps out, hours later, face flushed and skin smelling like his master.
Such an insult, he thinks bitterly, for his lordship. She is only a mere human.
The forest is brightening into summer when the tengu gets a visit from the mountain god.
No longer a boar, the black bear rears up on its hind legs and shakes water from its coat.
"...My lordship," the tengu says as he flutters down to land on a dead tree log. The bear studies him with one golden eye.
"Has he not told you yet?"
"Told me what, my lordship?"
The bear looks into the distance, and then looks back at the tengu again. The mountain god's face is unusually solemn.
"Go and visit him, tengu master, I am sure he has news for you."
The tengu visits him that night, and the horse speaks before he does.
"I will die tomorrow, Shukou," the horse announces, and the tengu feels his body go numb. He flaps his wings weakly and struggles to keep his balance.
"My lord!"
"It was my choice," the horse looks at him calmly, and lowers his head, "I am sorry I could not be a better master."
"I will kill the humans before they kill yo-"
"Shukou."
The tengu falls silent.
"Do not despair, this was the path my decision would eventually have led to."
Death?!, the tengu blurts out, and anger bubbles up from within him, white hot like the trails dead stars leaves in the sky. My lord, why did you choose this path if it would have led to death?
His answer is calm as he nudges the tengu with his snout. "If it means we could be together forever."
What about me, the tengu wonders, and weeps silent tears over his swallowed words.
He stays with his master until the sun goddess wakes up.
When he takes his leave, the horse looks at him and inclines its head.
Thank you, Shukou, and I am sorry you had a worthless master like me.
Gods may be forgiving, but unfortunately, tengu beings are not known for their benevolence.
The tengu watches as the farmer kills the horse with the unnaturally bright eyes.
The wind howls above the trees - a lament for a fallen god.
His master's blood spills on the greening land, a brilliant red. It seeps into the earth, and rejuvenates the sleeping shoots. By tomorrow, a tree will have sprung up and blossomed, together with the reddest flowers the forest has ever seen.
The farmer flays the black coat and hangs it out in the summer sun.
The tengu does not expect this:
First, the girl runs out of the hut and throws herself at the drying skin. She sobs, and she weeps, and she pleads.
Second, the farmer approaches her from behind, an axe in his hand, and blood still dripping from its blade.
Third, the skin is blown loose by an extra strong gust of wind. It wraps around her, and she embraces it.
Fourth, the wind carries them away.
He tears the farmer apart with a ferocity he thought he had forgotten.
Humans, he remembers with startling clarity, are soft. The blood is intoxicating; the screams, invigorating. He has not felt so alive in ten centuries, after he was taken under the wings of his master.
No, former master.
The tengu leaves the human where he dies, and washes the blood off his feathers in a nearby stream. A large black bear watches him quietly, solemnly.
"It was his choice, tengu master."
The tengu feels resentment bubbling up in him again - a poisonous emotion that turns the clear water he's standing in dark. He fights against the temptation to give in, and instead bows once at the mountain god.
...It was.
The golden eye watching him is heavy with pity.
The next day, the tree blossoms - it is a sakura tree, and birds from miles around come to gaze on its red flowers.
"How lovely!" they twitter to each other, and peck away buds of cherry blossom to carry home, "how beautiful!"
The tengu sits on the very top branches - he has claimed this tree as his own.
There is nothing left to do now, but wait.
And so, the tengu does.
the end.
[ author’s note: the original story can be found here ]
He comes to the tengu in the middle of the night.
"Tengu," the god booms, and the tengu flutters his feathers in reverence as he bows till his beak touches the ground.
"My lord," he says, and waits.
There is a long pause before the god speaks again.
"I want her."
She is the daughter of a common farmer, with hair like black gold and eyes that look perpetually sad.
She toils in her father's rice fields until her skin is burnt brown like the soil she works on, but her mouth turns up at the corners and when she laughs, the sun comes out to look. Her hands are stained but she smells like the earth, and the sky.
The god watches the way her fingers touch the golden husks, and feels a silent thudding in his chest. He touches the stalks of rice long after she has gone, and asks the rice for the opinion.
She is kind, the rice whispers, she talks to us, even when many of her kind do not. And the god smiles his approval, and looks to the quiet hut she and her father live in.
She does not deserve him, the tengu thinks, and the tree he sits on withers from his resentment.
The tengu does not agree to the situation.
"My lord," he says, "do you know what this will mean?"
It is a fact, not a question.
But the god does not reply.
The tengu bows his head and keeps his beak sealed.
She finds the horse in the middle of winter.
His coat is a glossy black and his eyes, pale blue. He snorts at her, and paws at the frozen ground. There is a wound on his leg, where black flares out angrily into white. The white is caked with mud and blood.
She extends her hand, and he limps over.
The red threads of fate tangle.
"You've grown angry," the boar says to him one day.
The tengu stops, and manages to bow once, "your lordship must be mistaken."
The boar snorts, an earthly sound that reverberates through the mountains; as expected of a mountain god. "Trees are withering from your anger, tengu master. Perhaps it would be best if you did not spend so much time watching the human."
The mountain god's eyes shines golden, and his lips curl up from sharp tusks when he adds, "You know what human emotions do to us."
The tengu does not reply, and the boar's smile fades and he looks towards the west, where the tree line fades to light, and the smell of humans drift into the woods. Without looking at the tengu, he concludes: "We all do."
The tengu wants to say, I am not angry, how can I be when it was his choice?, or perhaps, Why has he chosen such a foolish path, was I not a worthy disciple?
He wishes that the mountain god would not see all, know all.
Instead, his feathers droop and he wonders if he has always felt so helpless in the face of impending disaster.
"My lord," the tengu says as he alights on worn rafters.
"It's been a while, tengu." If horses could smile, then perhaps this one did - this horse with its unnaturally bright eyes and its magnificent black coat.
The tengu scratches at the feed in the worn wooden bucket, left out for mortal birds, in distain. "My lord, the humans are threatening you badly. You should come back," but the last sentence sticks in his throat. Instead, he chooses to scratch insults into the hard timber with his feet.
The horse throws his head back and stomps his hooves against the hay-covered ground. "She could feed me sand, and it would still be food fit for the gods."
The tengu flaps his wings, horrified at the suggestion. "The humans would pay dearly for their blasphemy! I will personally rip them limb from limb for such an insult!"
He isn’t lying when he says this, but the horse neighs and his eyes flash bright blue in the moonlight. Thank you for your concern, Shukou, the horse-god says. It has been a hundred seasons since the god has called his name, and he fluffs up his feathers in pride. He huddles by the rafters and stays till the sun goddess wakes up and paints the sky with her careful fingers.
The tengu doesn't tell him about his conversation with the mountain god.
Two moons later, he sits on a branch and watches the human slip into the stable. The sounds carry lightly on the cold winter air, and the wind god conjures up a storm, just for propriety. He smells them, before he even hears them. The tengu sits on the tree until she creeps out, hours later, face flushed and skin smelling like his master.
Such an insult, he thinks bitterly, for his lordship. She is only a mere human.
The forest is brightening into summer when the tengu gets a visit from the mountain god.
No longer a boar, the black bear rears up on its hind legs and shakes water from its coat.
"...My lordship," the tengu says as he flutters down to land on a dead tree log. The bear studies him with one golden eye.
"Has he not told you yet?"
"Told me what, my lordship?"
The bear looks into the distance, and then looks back at the tengu again. The mountain god's face is unusually solemn.
"Go and visit him, tengu master, I am sure he has news for you."
The tengu visits him that night, and the horse speaks before he does.
"I will die tomorrow, Shukou," the horse announces, and the tengu feels his body go numb. He flaps his wings weakly and struggles to keep his balance.
"My lord!"
"It was my choice," the horse looks at him calmly, and lowers his head, "I am sorry I could not be a better master."
"I will kill the humans before they kill yo-"
"Shukou."
The tengu falls silent.
"Do not despair, this was the path my decision would eventually have led to."
Death?!, the tengu blurts out, and anger bubbles up from within him, white hot like the trails dead stars leaves in the sky. My lord, why did you choose this path if it would have led to death?
His answer is calm as he nudges the tengu with his snout. "If it means we could be together forever."
What about me, the tengu wonders, and weeps silent tears over his swallowed words.
He stays with his master until the sun goddess wakes up.
When he takes his leave, the horse looks at him and inclines its head.
Thank you, Shukou, and I am sorry you had a worthless master like me.
Gods may be forgiving, but unfortunately, tengu beings are not known for their benevolence.
The tengu watches as the farmer kills the horse with the unnaturally bright eyes.
The wind howls above the trees - a lament for a fallen god.
His master's blood spills on the greening land, a brilliant red. It seeps into the earth, and rejuvenates the sleeping shoots. By tomorrow, a tree will have sprung up and blossomed, together with the reddest flowers the forest has ever seen.
The farmer flays the black coat and hangs it out in the summer sun.
The tengu does not expect this:
First, the girl runs out of the hut and throws herself at the drying skin. She sobs, and she weeps, and she pleads.
Second, the farmer approaches her from behind, an axe in his hand, and blood still dripping from its blade.
Third, the skin is blown loose by an extra strong gust of wind. It wraps around her, and she embraces it.
Fourth, the wind carries them away.
He tears the farmer apart with a ferocity he thought he had forgotten.
Humans, he remembers with startling clarity, are soft. The blood is intoxicating; the screams, invigorating. He has not felt so alive in ten centuries, after he was taken under the wings of his master.
No, former master.
The tengu leaves the human where he dies, and washes the blood off his feathers in a nearby stream. A large black bear watches him quietly, solemnly.
"It was his choice, tengu master."
The tengu feels resentment bubbling up in him again - a poisonous emotion that turns the clear water he's standing in dark. He fights against the temptation to give in, and instead bows once at the mountain god.
...It was.
The golden eye watching him is heavy with pity.
The next day, the tree blossoms - it is a sakura tree, and birds from miles around come to gaze on its red flowers.
"How lovely!" they twitter to each other, and peck away buds of cherry blossom to carry home, "how beautiful!"
The tengu sits on the very top branches - he has claimed this tree as his own.
There is nothing left to do now, but wait.
And so, the tengu does.
the end.
[ author’s note: the original story can be found here ]