Page 40

Chapter 40

Kaneko

W hen I first arrived, the villagers had watched me like I was some wild animal that had wandered too close to their fire—unpredictable, foreign, dangerous. They weren’t unkind—quite the opposite—but they still observed me from a distance, whispering when I passed, lowering their voices whenever I caught their eye. Their expressions were cautious, the same way one might look at a dog that had been kicked too many times—one you weren’t sure might run or bite.

I had expected it to last. I had expected to remain separate, untouchable.

But then, without me even realizing it, everything changed. The stares began to fade. The murmurs died down. And one morning, when I stepped out of Irie’s shop to run an errand, a woman actually waved at me and called my name—with a smile on her lips.

I stood frozen on the spot.

The woman kept walking, unbothered, as if she had always waved, as if I were someone who belonged here.

Now, they barely noticed me.

When I walked through the village, no one watched my every move. When I passed through the market, no one whispered behind their hands. If anything, they greeted me with brief nods, casual acknowledgments, even an occasional bow.

As if I had always been here.

And it unsettled me.

Not because I wanted to be feared or wanted to be an outsider, but because the idea that I could become just another face in this village meant that I was changing—and I wasn’t sure I welcomed that change.

I had come to learn the rhythms of the market, too.

Mornings were always busy, the air thick with the scents of spices, drying fish, and fresh-baked bread. Vendors shouted over one another, calling out deals and laughing as they bartered.

Irie dragged me along on her errands, pointing out stalls and vendors as we passed. She knew everyone, and everyone knew her.

“That’s old Kenji,” she had said one morning, gesturing toward a broad-shouldered man with scarred hands and a face like a weathered cliff. “He runs the best fish stall, but he’ll cheat you blind if you let him.”

How many vendors had she said that about? I couldn’t hide my amusement.

Kenji had heard her. The burly man snorted like an angry bull and shook his head. “She lies,” he told me. “I’m the only honest one in this whole market.”

Irie cackled. “Oh, you’re the worst of them, you old fish fucker.”

I half expected the giant man to charge from behind his wares and show just how angry a bull could get, but Kenji chuckled, then winked at me before turning to a customer and ignoring us entirely.

For some reason, the interaction had left me off balance—not because of Irie’s accusation or the fear I might one day lose coin to a devious seller of fish, but because it had been so . . . normal.

Gods, how long would every little thing, every experience, every new encounter, make me feel uneasy or disturbed? When would I just settle in and feel comfortable in my own skin again?

Everything would have been easier if they had continued to treat me like a stranger, if they had glared at me, kept their distance, reminded me that I was not one of them. Instead, they were making it dangerously easy to forget—to forget that I had once lived somewhere else, to forget that I had once had a home, a family, a life far from this island.

The more time I spent here, the more I realized I was getting used to it.

In such a short time, I had come to know the sounds of the village, the people, the voices that filled the market streets. I had come to recognize the patterns of daily life, the familiar faces, the routines that never changed. Mother of light, I knew many of the villagers’ names.

It was all so ordinary.

And that was dangerous because that meant someday I might stop feeling like an outsider. That someday, I might wake up and no longer feel the urge to leave.

I wasn’t ready for that. I couldn’t be. Because if I stopped wanting to escape, then what was left of me ?

What was left of me anyway? All I did was follow Irie about like a lost puppy. I had nothing in this place, nothing that wasn’t given to me by those who’d tossed me into this prison.

The realization that I needed something beyond striding by Irie’s side struck me harder than I expected. It came slowly, creeping in like a sickness, settling into my bones before I had the words to explain it. But once I understood, it became impossible to ignore.

I wasn’t meant to spend my days running errands. I wasn’t meant to stand in the market, carrying baskets and waiting for someone to tell me what to do. I needed something else, something that made me feel like myself again, something that gave me a purpose.

When Kazashita came to visit the next morning, weeks of boredom and frustration spilled out.

“This is unbearable,” I muttered, pushing aside the pile of herbs Irie had ordered me to sort.

Kazashita, who had been leaning lazily against the doorframe, raised an eyebrow. “The herbs?”

“No. Everything .” I gestured at the shop, then out the window. “Being stuck here, running errands, pretending I’m useful when I’m not. I feel like a stray dog someone let in out of pity.”

Irie snorted from where she was rummaging through her shelves. “You are a stray dog, Pup, just slightly less mangy now. If you get fleas, I’ll toss that pretty ass right out, you hear me?”

I scowled, but Kazashita chuckled.

That’s when I realized something else: I wasn’t afraid of him anymore.

Dozens of days ago—or however many it had been—I would have flinched at his presence. I would have watched him out of the corner of my eye, bracing for whatever he might say or do. I would have wondered, when his fingers twitched on the handle of his katana , was he about to turn on me, show me just how much he belonged to the wakō , how brutal he could be? Deep down, I knew he would never hurt me. He’d had plenty of opportunities and never once did so.

Still, he’d been my captor aboard the ship, and that time left its scars.

But now?

I just found him irritating.

I refused to admit I might actually enjoy his company, but I surprised myself by acknowledging, grudgingly, that I respected him, if only a little.

“You need work,” Irie announced, smacking the side of my arm with the back of her hand.

“I do work. Gods, you see to that,” I grumbled, sounding like a perturbed five-year-old who’d had his candy taken away.

“No, you run errands and walk with an old woman. You need a real job,” she said.

“A job?” I hadn’t meant to sound, I don’t know, resentful? Put out? Imposed upon? None of those made sense because I was the one complaining of boredom. Still, the idea of those two telling me I needed to go out and work . . . something about that rankled me, made me see them as getting far too close for my own comfort. Who were they to tell me what I needed? Who were they to care about my happiness? How dare they—?

“So what would you rather be doing?” Kazashita asked. “Running through the jungle again?”

“At least then I had a purpose.” I exhaled, rubbing my temples, surrendering to the conversation. “I can’t just sit here, waiting for something to happen. I need to do something.”

Irie finally turned around, tapping a finger against her chin. “Hmm. Well, let’s see . . . what skills do you have?”

I hesitated. “I grew up fishing with my father.”

Kazashita nodded. “That’s a start.”

“Boring. You should aim higher.” Irie huffed.

I groaned. “Such as?”

She brightened. “You could be an entertainer! We don’t have many of those on the island. That could be fun!”

Kazashita and I stared at her.

Irie grinned. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. You’ve got the face for it, and your singing voice isn’t entirely unpleasant.”

“Thanks, I think.”

She grinned her toothy grin.

Kazashita exhaled sharply through his nose. “A wandering performer?”

I rubbed my temples. “We’re on an island. How far could I wander? I seriously doubt the camps on the perimeter would welcome a minstrel into their midst.”

“They might entertain you more than you do them.” Kazashita made a lude gesture, shoving one finger into his other fist.

Irie howled as my face drained of color. Then she shrugged. “Fine. What about—a matchmaker?”

Kazashita spat a laugh. “A what?”

“Oh, come now, Kazi. This island is full of lonely people. Imagine Kaneko running a little stall, pairing couples, mending hearts—”

“No,” I barked. “I want nothing to do with hearts.”

Irie waved a hand. “All right, fine. A fortune teller.”

Kazashita snorted. “That would be something to see.”

“I would be terrible at it.” I glared.

“Why do you think that?” Irie asked.

“I can barely see the present. There’s no way I could convince people I see the future.”

“Even better,” Irie mused. “Give the villagers terrible fortunes, just vague enough to sound real. Tell them ‘Beware the color blue!’ and then watch them panic every time they see the ocean.”

Kazashita chuckled.

And I surprised myself again by not hating the sound of his laughter.

“Fishing,” I said quickly, before she could suggest I dress in women’s clothing and prostitute myself beside a goat.

“That again? How boring.” Irie sighed dramatically. “Fine, but you could have been the most spectacular fraud this island has ever seen.”

Kazashita shook his head, still smirking. “I will talk to Kenji. He is always whining about needing more supply.”

The moment I pushed off from the dock, the tension in my chest eased.

The water was the same. No matter what shore I launched from, the sea did not care. It was vast, restless, unconcerned with who I was or what I had lost.

For the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe.

I worked in silence, my hands remembering what my mind had feared it had lost. My head tilted back, bathing sun-starved skin in Amaterasu’s embrace.

“I missed you, goddess, more than I could have ever imagined.”

A pillowy cloud parted, and rays of light poured onto my upturned face.

Had Amaterasu heard me? Did she truly live? I’d never been especially religious. In fact, Yoshi often chided me for my lack of faith in the gods or their existence, but sitting there, bobbing on that boat, it was as if she reached down and stroked my cheek. I could feel it. Deep within my soul, I felt her presence—her comfort.

The whole thing was silly, I knew. Clouds drifted. The sun was warm. It heated my skin. That was all. There were no gods or goddesses. There was no caressing. Any comfort I felt came from within my own spirit, not that of some distant goddess who never showed herself, much less offered aid when we needed it.

Still, her touch lingered as I turned to my task.

Fishing had always been about patience: Cast the nets, wait, read the current.

It had been the first thing my father taught me.

And the one thing Yoshi never mastered.

He had never been able to sit still long enough to let the nets do their work. He always found ways to entertain himself—splashing water at me, trying to catch fish with his bare hands, singing terribly off-key.

I had pretended to be annoyed. I rolled my eyes and told him he was scaring away the catch.

But now?

Now, I would give anything to hear his voice again, to see his smile, to laugh with him as he spoke of nonsense and nothing. Gods, I missed him more than I’d ever missed anything; and yet, my mind strained to form his image. I stopped working and closed my eyes, focusing on every memory I held, and still his face would not resolve with any clarity.

“Amaterasu, if you are up there—or out there, wherever you are—don’t let me forget him. Please, if I never ask for anything else, don’t take Yoshi from me.”

I don’t know why I begged, why I prayed. I barely believed. Still, it felt right.

And the sun’s warmth stroked my cheek again.

The net was heavy when I pulled it in.

A good haul.

I should have felt satisfied. Instead, I felt hollow, because I had done this all before.

But I had never done it alone.

I let out a slow breath, staring at the ocean.

I wanted to believe Yoshi was still alive, but if he was, wouldn’t he be searching for me? Wouldn’t he be feeling this same ache, this same longing?

I shook my head.

This wasn’t the time for ghosts.

The village was waking up when I rowed back. Smoke curled from cooking fires, and the scent of sizzling fish and fresh rice filled the air.

Kenji was waiting at the docks. He looked over the fish, nodding. “Good haul. Keep this up, and you’ll earn your place here soon enough.”

I tensed.

I didn’t know how to respond, how to accept what he’d said. I didn’t know so many things. So I just nodded and walked away.

That evening, I sat outside Irie’s shop, staring up at the sky. She joined me, lowering herself onto the steps. “You survived your first day.”

I nodded.

Kazashita arrived not long after, his presence as casual as ever. He leaned against the post beside me, crossing his arms. “So, do you feel less useless?”

I sighed. “Maybe.”

Irie studied me. “Still thinking about leaving?”

I hesitated.

Because I was.

Wasn’t I?