Archive of Our Own

“You’re the mushishi, aren’t you?” 

Ginko dropped his gaze, mouth full of soba and watercress. Chopsticks clamped mid-bite around more noodles, head close to the bowl, he slurped and sucked down the remaining noodles.

Three young kids had gathered around his feet, staring up at him with childlike fascination. They were dressed in light, breezy outfits typically worn by local beachside villagers. The climate here was warm and soft. Their sandals were dusted with sugary golden sand, and they wore accessories made out of seashells, bleached white by sunlight.

One of the kids, a young boy, tapped Ginko’s chest-of-drawers backpack. “What’s in here?” he asked.

Ginko set down his empty bowl. A server who helped tend the establishment came by to collect it. She regarded all three children and exhaled audibly. “Ryu, Eiko, and you Daisuke—!” she hastily brushed the boy’s curious hand away from Ginko’s wooden backpack. “Don’t be harassing my customers!”

“They’re no bother,” Ginko assured her, but the server was already ushering the children out the door.

“Ay,” she sighed, leaning against the doorframe, exasperated. A paper lantern, decorated in paint and ribbons, billowed gently overhead. “Word travels fast around these parts. Those kids have been back and forth across this path all week. When they heard a real mushishi was visiting, they took to loitering outside this shop.”

“Eh, can you blame them?” a patron drunkenly hollered. He had been quietly drinking a bottle of sake until now. “No doctor has been able to help those afflicted in their village. And that poor Daisuke kid. Both parents now overcome by that soul-wasting disease. Terrible.”

“That’ll be enough from you, Inei,” the server chided him, snatching away what remained of his sake. “I expected this from those kids, but not from you. The last thing I need is for you to be frightening away our visitors.”

Inei batted the woman away with a slurred-wave of his hand. “This young man is no ordinary visitor.” He eyed Ginko from across the room. “Those kids were right about you, weren’t they? You are the mushishi we’ve been waiting for around here.”

“I am,” Ginko said pleasantly, taking careful note of his surroundings. The shop was laced with the vague earthy scent of water poppies, roasted seaweed, and dry tea leaves. The food prepared in the kitchen was clean and nonaromatic, like fresh seawater. 

What left Ginko unsettled was the absence of mushi. That in itself wasn’t unusual, but something about their lack of presence here felt unnatural, empty.

Devoid of life.

“It’s about time a real mushishi arrived in this remote beachside town of ours,” Inei snorted. “Was beginning to wonder if that good-for-nothing seafarer would ever bother reaching out to a mushishi like yourself.”

“Ay!” the server thwacked Inei over the head. “That ‘good-for-nothing’ sailor you speak of is my brother, Haku, and the village chief around here. You show some respect. And mind you if it wasn’t for him and his quick-thinking, you’d still be stranded out at sea.”

Ginko smirked. He held a cigarette lightly in one hand, unlit. 

“Mushishi!” Inei waved Ginko over. “Come share a drink with me.”

The server rolled her eyes and left with an arm full of dirty dishes. A moment later she emerged from the kitchen with a fresh flask of sake and a clean set of ceramic dishes. Matte glaze. Inei poured for them both, filling their ceramic cups until the sake overflowed.

In the corner of his peripheral vision, a mushi had drifted through the doorway, endlessly drawn to Ginko. It settled under the paper lantern and anchored itself to the woodwork. Ribbons of light blossomed around it as if it was breathing. Ginko drew his eyes away from the mushi as Inei slid a white-milk glass spill vase closer to him. It was shaped into a seashell.

Ginko was able to get a light and introduced himself. “My name is Ginko.”

“Inei,” came a gruff reply. “It’s good you are here now, but I wouldn’t stay around too long in these parts.”

Ginko moved the smoldering cigarette away from his face, spitting smoke into the air over his head. The mushi was chased away in seconds. “What can you tell me about what’s happening here? In the message, it was written that there has been some sort of soul-wasting disease plaguing this town."

Inei raised his cup of sake and Ginko did the same. They both sipped. It was astringent, vaguely sweet.

“What else have you heard?” asked Inei.

“Not much. Only what was written in the letter. Priests and doctors have both visited this area, I’m told. None could help those afflicted.”

“Do you mind if I ask who it is that wrote you? I can assume it was not Haku himself. One of those village kids, I bet."

“There wasn’t a name.”

“Mm,” Inei took another sip, far longer than the last. “We would have called a mushishi sooner, but Haku has always remained skeptical. He does not trust mushishi. Firmly believes they’re some sort of conman but with extra tricks up their sleeves. This disease has plagued our village for some time, that much is true.”

“You say priests and doctors have both visited these parts. What did they determine?”

“Bah.” Inei poured himself more sake. “The same story as always. Low spirits. Mental distress. It’s an affliction pressing down on the mind, they say. Others call it melancholia. They’ll prescribe the villagers root tea. Never seems to do much, but Haku sure makes sure those who do visit get paid handsomely for their troubles.”

“Is it that bad?”

Inei considered it. “Nearly everyone in the village has been affected by it whether directly or indirectly through their loved ones. I, myself, choose to no longer spend more than a few hours at a time in town, which is a real shame. The beaches here are some of the most beautiful I’ve ever known.”

“You don’t live in town?” Ginko asked.

“Not by the coast as I once had. My home is here now,” Inei explained. "Mine as well as my wife’s.”

“Your wife…” and then it dawned on Ginko. The server. She was the owner of this establishment.

“Yeah, she’s a hothead that one but does a damn fine job at keeping this place in shape. She likes to keep me hidden in the back of the house here." Inei laughed. "Says I scare away travelers to this area with my tall tales.”

“Has business been down?”

“Not more than it has always been,” Inei sighed. He took another sip of sake and held the now-empty cup up to Ginko. “This sake. You like it? I make it myself.”

“It’s good,” Ginko told him, and he meant it. He finished what was left in his own cup.

“Come by here again, mushishi. You are welcome to as much as you’d like while you are here,” Inei said. A vacant look glossed his eyes then. “That Daisuke-kid will be waiting for you outside once you leave here. Poor mother of his. Used to be the finest silkweaver in this village as I remember. He will want you to see her before anyone else, I imagine. Her and his father. He’s a willful one that child.”

Ginko let out a breath of smoke and stretched his legs.

“Be careful while you’re here, mushishi.”

.

.

.

True to his assumption, Inei had been correct. Waiting for him a few meters away was Daisuke. His back was against a wall of sea stones. The rocks were dark grey and lustrous like volcanic rocks from the ocean crust had been used to construct it. Daisuke was now alone. 

Ginko approached the boy. “Are you waiting for someone?”

Daisuke hopped to his feet. “Ryo and Eiko got tired sticking around here while I was waiting for you. I told them they could go back if they wanted.”

“Sorry to keep you waiting, then.” Ginko blinked as he heard his own words. Why the hell was he even apologizing?

“I didn’t mind waiting,” Daisuke chirped brightly. “I’m glad you finally came. Haku still doesn’t know I’m the one who wrote you.”

“I was curious about that.”

“Is it true you can heal people?”

“That depends,” Ginko said.

The footpath from here carried them to the beach. They walked alongside one another now. Shorebirds nesting nearby took flight.

“Haku doesn’t trust any mushishi to come here,” Daisuke told him, leading them down a part of the coastal pathway that was left unmarked. “That's why he has only ever sent for doctors and sometimes priests. We don’t get many visitors out here. It’s faster to travel here by sea than it is on land, did you know? You couldn’t have come here by sea. If you had, you would have already met Haku and then he may have told you not to come at all. He’s out on the water still, but you can stay with me while we wait for him.”

“Doesn’t seem as if this Haku will appreciate my presence.”

“No, he will!” Daisuke insisted, quickening his pace and grabbing Ginko's sleeve. “I’ll talk to him. You don’t have to worry about that.”

Beachgrass lined the windswept dunes here. A small cottage set in the distance, built upon black slate. Upclose the cottage appeared dilapidated, walls worn away and rotted by the salty air and ocean spray. Daisuke cracked open the front door, then shut it fast. 

“That doctor is still here,” Daisuke said, glancing up at Ginko warily, who stayed a good distance behind. “I bet Haku asked him to come here."

Ginko did not take it personally. “It's always good to get another opinion.”

Daisuke shook his head, hand wrapped firmly around the door handle, keeping it shut tight. “You don’t understand,” he said. “Nothing Haku's tried has been working—”

Someone pushed against the door from the other side, but with Daisuke pulling firm against the door handle, the door jammed. From the other side, Ginko heard someone knocking.

“Hey! Who locked this?”

Ginko blinked.

He knew that voice.

“You have to leave now!” Daisuke shouted through the shut door. “This is my home! And you have to do what I say. And...and you’re not needed here anymore!” The boy threw open the door. “Now go away!”

Ginko stared at whom he saw on the other side.

“Hey, Adashino.”

Adashino adjusted his monocle as if he could not believe what he was seeing. “It’s about time you showed your face here, Ginko.”

Standing between the two of them, Daisuke pointed from one to the other. “You two know each other?”

Ginko chuckled. “Unfortunately.”

“Come off it. You and I both know you’re only here now to show me up.”

“Care to observe?”

Adashino grinned. “As always,” he said, regarding Daisuke with a bow as he moved past him. "Though it seems I’m no longer welcome here anymore.”

“Wait.” Daisuke stopped everyone from taking another step in either direction. He grabbed the fold of Adashino’s sleeve before he went too far and regarded the other man cautiously. “You can stay if the mushishi says you can stay. Sorry for earlier.” Daisuke released him, voice going soft. “I didn’t...I just didn’t want you to get in his way.”

Ginko smiled at that.

Adashino threw Ginko a sharp look, but otherwise ignored him and knelt down to Daisuke’s level. “You’re worried over your mom and father, I know. But they’re going to be okay.” He patted Daisuke across the shoulder and jabbed a thumb in Ginko’s general direction. “That mushishi over there? He’s one of the best. If there’s anything I can’t make better, he sure as hell can.”

Ginko shifted from one foot to the next, feeling far too uncomfortable under this limelight and Adashino knew it too. The doctor smirked, all-too-knowing. 

Adashino flashed him a wicked grin. “Isn’t that right, Ginko?”

Ginko pinched the cigarette from between his lips and removed it. “Let me see them first.”

“This way,” Daisuke waved them both back inside.

Ocean salt and fresh sea flowers perfumed the living space, but it felt heavy and condensed with a stench of acid and stale water. Racks of folded, weaved silk rested across wooden slats. A handloom was set nearby still holding threads of silk under tension. Many of the strands had snapped over time and remained that way.

Daisuke led them into another room where his parents remained.

Upon entering, Ginko held his breath. The room was tarnished with mushi that emanated a brighter than normal light. They were dying. Mushi laid shriveled near the ground. One dripped from the ceiling when Ginko entered. A sinking familiarity began to rot in his stomach. He had seen mushi in this state before when he had been with Kumado.

Adashino didn’t come any closer. “They’re still alive,” he said and at first Ginko shifted his head cautiously, believing his friend was referring to the dying mushi around them. That can't be. One look around at him and Ginko realized Adashino was referring to the couple in the room. 

Their eyes were vacant, glossed over. It was as if their bodies had become an empty vessel. A woman laid in bed. The silk sheet covered her body to her shoulders. Leaning against a nearby wall was a man. He appeared to be staring at her, but he remained cataonic. There was a vacant look in his eyes.

“You say I’m the first mushishi to come here?” Ginko asked Daisuke.

The boy nodded slowly.

“I see,” Ginko murmured, biting an unlit cigarette between his teeth. He wondered why no one from the Minai clan had arrived here yet. This would have been a situation for them, or so they would have preferred, which led Ginko to believe perhaps his suspicions were wrong. 

Perhaps this had nothing to do with the sanekui. Or perhaps this Haku was just that adamant about not having mushishi come here to investigate and had managed to keep it a secret until now.

“What's happening could be caused by the sanekui mushi," Ginko said.

Daisuke spoke the word as if uttering it for the first time. “San-e-kui..mushi?” 

“Mm,” Ginko nodded. Though Ginko had suspected this would be the case, it was something he had to see with his own eyes. “Soul-devouring mushi.”

Daisuke dropped to his knees next to the woman on the floor. Late-afternoon sunlight filtered in through a window, dusting her flesh in an eerie light. Her skin was speckled with flecks of grey. It was true what Adashino said. She was alive, but her body was still aging, withering. “Can you stop it?” Daisuke demanded. “Do you know how to help them?”

Ginko stayed quiet for some time.

If what had devoured their soul truly was the sanekui, it was already too late. 

Adashino continued observing them from the doorway spoke then. “Daisuke, tell Ginko how long your parents have been like this.”

“My father became this way three weeks ago. That’s when I tried to contact someone. But my mom has been like this for over seven years.”

“Seven years?” Ginko took the cigarette from his mouth. He looked into Daisuke’s father’s eyes. No life was apparent behind them. Ginko contemplated the seriousness of the situation. “How was he in the weeks leading up to then?”

Daisuke went oddly quiet then. He shrugged.

“What do you make of it, Ginko?” Adashino asked.

“I’m not sure,” Ginko replied. Something was still keeping them alive, preserving their hosts. How long did the sanekui keep a human vessel alive? “How many others in the village are like this?” 

“There's a few,” Adashino said.

Ginko acknowledged the response in silence, turning his attention to Daisuke, whose eyes were now fixated on his mother’s empty seemingly lifeless body. 

“Ginko,” Adashino called. “A word outside?”

“Ah, sure.”

.

.

.

“There’s something strange about this village.”

Ginko nodded in faint agreement. The midday sun rippled across the sea’s surface. A gentle breeze brushed the back of his neck. He gestured towards the ocean, waving a lit cigarette. Smoke rolled toward the sky from the movement. “Never expected to see you this far from home.”

“Yeah, well.” Adashino cracked a smile, watching wisps of smoke curl into the air. “Everyone should be fine without me for a few more days.”

Ginko paused with his thumb and forefinger wrapped around the cigarette, just shy of his mouth, and stared as far as he could see into the horizon where the ocean touched the skyline. “How long have you been here?”

“Not long. Fews days by now,” Adashino replied, soft-spoken and lighthearted. “Any less than that and we would have completely missed one another. Funny how circumstantial chance can be.” 

The universe had a way of working in strange, unexplained manners. There was a subtle magnetism to it. "Yes," Ginko agreed.

Adashino walked across the black slate then and onto the sand. Ginko followed, but when he was within conversational distance again, his friend continued to walk further away from the cottage and towards the coastline.

Ginko stifled a sharp inhale but followed.

“I didn’t want the kid to be eavesdropping on us,” Adashino explained once Ginko caught up and was able to walk evenly beside him. “His parents are in the worst condition out of anyone else I’ve seen in town." After a beat passed, he then asked, "did you see any mushi back there?”

“It wasn’t what I expected," Ginko told him. "The mushi that remain there now couldn’t have caused the condition of his parents.”

“Then the boy’s in no danger remaining where he is?”

“I don’t have reason to suspect he would be right now,” Ginko replied. The afternoon sun baked the sand they walked on into white dust. He gave Adashino a long look. “Where have you been staying?”

“With Haku.”

“What do you think of him?”

Adashino raised his eyebrows at him, then turned his gaze to the water. Flecks of ocean water and sea salt spritzed the air from here. He combed his fingers through his hair. “I think he’s someone you should avoid.”

“You don’t think we’d get along?”

“Not if he finds out you’re a mushishi.” Adashino studied him doubtfully. “And with that hair of yours, I mean. You do stand out.”

Ginko frowned and looked away, unamused by that. A cool gentle breeze picked up and blew his hair into his eyes as if on cue.

“Daisuke sent for you, didn’t he.”

“He did.”

“Best keep that from Haku too.”

The waves crested and crashed across the shore. The sea stretched from the coastline in a wash of rich dark blue.

Adashino waved his attention toward a fixed point in the horizon. “Haku imports and exports goods between here and other offshore towns. That’s how we got to know one another. He docked at a port near home. Traded silk and salt for rice and wood. But then he started soliciting for help from doctors, priests—anyone who would listen. Claimed an unknown sickness was ravaging his village. Then before I knew it, I was getting involved,” he told Ginko. “Refused to talk to any mushishi about it.”

“And that made you interested?”

“I certainly asked him about his aversion to it. I’ll spare you the details of what he told me next.”

“That I’m a conman with extra tricks up my sleeves?”

Adashino laughed at that. “I see you’ve already talked to some of the townsfolk here, though can you blame them? Think of all the times you’ve conned me.”

Ginko feigned theatrics. “I’ve never.”

“Pfft. Spare me.”

Sea salt carried in the wind, permeating it. Ginko breathed in deeply. It was like drinking ice-cold water on a hot summer day. The air around him tasted like cucumber water and white tea leaves. He turned his gaze to the left and saw a group of locals collecting seawater further up the coastline. He pointed them out to Adashino. “What are they doing?”

Adashino followed the direction of his hand. “Believe they’re harvesting salt.”

“I’d like to go talk to them.”

Adashino shrugged as if to say don’t expect much and walked along the coastline, accompanying Ginko there. Dark-watered sand crushed under their feet here and Ginko found it easier to walk in the damp sand here than the powdery dry sand they had been.

The sand terraces were distinctively crossed off from the rest of the beach. As they got closer, Ginko noticed men distributing buckets of seawater across it. Others remained busy shoveling dry sand into a large wooden box, pouring more seawater systematically into it.

Kneeling on a nearby sand dune was one of the children that had first greeted Ginko outside the noodle shop. Eiko, he believed, was her name. She sunk her hands into the sand, digging for crab shells and other seashells. There was a collection of them gathered next to her along with other beach stones.

Eiko lifted her head when she heard them approach. She clutched a small drawstring purse close to her knees and scrambled to her feet when Adashino and Ginko stepped closer.

“Her older brother is a salt harvester here,” Adashino explained, giving the young girl a casual wave as they passed. “He must be working—”

Eiko appeared in their line of sight abruptly. She ran in front of them, cutting them off their path. “Is it true?” she asked, her voice taking on a high, distressed pitch as she looked up at Ginko. “You’re the mushishi that Daisuke reached out to?”

“That’s right.”

Eiko turned, pointing toward the sand terrace where a young man was seen sifting sand. “That’s my brother down there. Are you here to help him too?”

“We’re about to go talk to him now,” Ginko told her.

Eiko frowned, clutching her purse close to her heart. She then stepped aside and allowed them to pass.

Once they were out of earshot, their conversation resumed. “The children here at least seem fine,” Ginko said.

Adashino nodded. “For now.”

No one seemed to pay them any attention when they approached the sand terrace. A storage house was nearby. Steam wafted through and out the shafts where workers dried seawater from the salt. The heavy, dense odor of iron lingered here infused with a subtle earthy aroma.

“Hey,” Ginko stepped forward. “You’re Eiko’s brother, aren’t you?”

The man that he addressed barely looked at him, muted and stoned-faced. He ran his fingers down the sifting rake in his grasp and paused faintly acknowledging the fact that Ginko had been heard. Then he stared determinately at the sand beneath his feet and proceeded to loosen and level it as before.

Ginko noted his behavior with careful eyes. Was he mistaken? Had he offended him?

“That is Eiko’s brother alright,” Adashino assured him. “Don’t expect to get much more from him. Same for the others here.”

To assume visitors weren’t welcome to this remote beachside town wasn’t unfathomable, but there was something more happening here. If it wasn’t for the children who remained, Ginko would not have bothered investigating further into this sand terrace. The sea-drenched sand was delicately and purposefully raked to dry the salt and sea minerals that were being poured here. He ventured closer to the storage house where salt harvesters carried a box brimming with sand into it.

Ginko followed them inside while Adashino (having likely already investigated this far) remained outside.

The air was humid and condensed with the heady herbal scents of boiling sand, which simmered in a large basin nearby. Someone tended to it, shoveling salt that was drying in it and kneading it back into the basin until it was ready to be removed and piled deeper in storage. Some wet salt slopped out of the basin. No one bothered with it.

In the back of the house was a wall lined with piles of grey-tinged salt, granules falling and slipping out of place, slopes unbalanced. The salt they harvested was rich in minerals and clay.

Workers shuffled past Ginko, bearing him no mind. 

“You’re in the way,” an elder man spoke, voice low and solemn, not looking at him.

“Sorry.” Ginko stepped aside, attempting to keep his attention. “Excuse me, but who’s in charge here?”

“What business is that of yours,” the man said, gentler somehow but dangerous. His eyes were like ink and charcoal.

Ginko didn’t speak. He looked at the man, eyes calm. Something was wrong and Ginko found it hard to breathe suddenly; it was a pressure he couldn’t shake.

It was a strange and visceral reaction. This man had all the characteristics of a human: flesh, skin and hair. But what he lacked was a natural instinctive state of mind behind it all. His eyes were vacant, lost and without purpose, without a soul, even—or perhaps one had been artificially implanted with kouki, but even then Ginko had his doubts.

It was more as if he was half-alive.

“You’re in the way,” the man told him once more.

Ginko took another step back further that time into the darker corners of the storage house. There was an unbalance in the inner-workings here. The air was so cloyingly balmy and palpable, Ginko felt sick. His clothes clung to his skin and he felt his skin cling to his bones.

A strange feeling festered under his rib cage. It was as if there was no space left for his ribcage to expand as Ginko tried to draw in breath. If sanekui were causing this unbalance, it was more than Ginko was equipped to handle now.

Ginko stumbled outside. He took a deep breath, then another. Even outside, the air was still sticky and clumped in his throat.

He had to get away from this sand terrace. 

Higher up on the dunes, Adashino was waiting where Ginko had last left him—except he wasn’t alone. Daisuke and Eiko were with him too now. They waved his attention to Ginko once they saw him approaching from the storage house.

“Ginko, hey!” Adashino greeted. The words came with a wave. A cool breeze blew in from the sea, sweeping past them, carrying with it a light salty ozone and the scent of rock cap moss. The fading daylight shimmered across the sugar-golden sand higher up the shoreline where he waited. A soft smile at the corners of his mouth. “We were starting to wonder about you."

Threads of sunlight weaved fragments of shadow across the dunes, turning the sands where they stood into rich shades of orange and ginger.

“Something wrong?” Adashino asked.

Ginko was not sure how to answer at that moment.

What he felt was deeper-than-bone exhaustion. It was as if his body was trying to recalibrate from the sudden lack of pressure out here from the cloistering pressure that had stifled him inside the storage house. Ginko laid one hand over his own stomach and rubbed the bone. His hand flexed over his stomach. Moments ago everything had felt like jagged, skewed angles, and now there was a softness outside.

An airy heaviness overwhelmed him, dragging him down like a riptide.

“Maybe you should sit down,” Adashino said, meeting him halfway, reaching out to him. 

The next thing Ginko knew Adashino had his arm around his own and was removing his backpack. His hands slipped in the folds of Ginko’s coat, helping to remove that as well. It took Ginko a moment before he could hum a weak, "thanks." 

“Doctor! What happened to the mushishi?” Eiko cried out. “Is it the soul-wasting disease? Did it get him too?"

Daisuke quickly circled around them and Adashino waved at the kids to move away. To give them some space.

“Ginko, lie down,” he said. Adashino was by his side, hand gentle on his elbow. “Daisuke. Eiko. Get us some fresh water, can you?”

“Come on, Eiko,” Daisuke said, guiding her away. “We’ll be right back!”

Adashino angled his shoulders in such a way it eclipsed the sun, providing Ginko with some shade. “Well. Good job, Ginko,” he said, kneeling next to him, still managing to block out the sun. “You got yourself involved in something incredibly stupid back there didn’t you.”

Ginko laughed then, which seemed to startle Adashino. 

Adashino was far from amused. 

“You’re delirious,” Adashino told him.

Ginko did consider that. His back remained pressed flat against the sand. It was soft and warm, and faintly dewy as if seawater had been lifted from the ocean and painted the ground here with a damp brush. It reminded him of caramelized sugar, thick golden honey. 

“You’re right,” Ginko finally said, “about this place, I mean.” Although Adashino was probably right about the delirium too. “There’s something strange here. Something strange with the mushi."

“Yeah well, try not to concern yourself with that now.”

There was something like cucumber water and white tea leaves in the air once more, and Adashino touched the side of his face. His fingertips were cool as if they had been pressed to ice before being brought to his temples. 

Ginko closed his eyes. “You don't need to do this,” he said. "I'm alright."

Adashino didn’t say anything. 

By the time Daisuke returned, he was alone again and had water. His words were rushed and breathless. “Haku is back. Eiko and I saw his boat.” He dropped to his knees next to Adashino and handed him a clay dipper. 

“What great timing," Adashino sighed. He directed the next question at Ginko. “Can you sit up?”

Ginko pushed himself into a sitting position and closed his eyes until the dizziness went away. “I’m up," he muttered.

“Good, drink this.”

A cool clay dipper touched his lips, and he drank from it. He handed it back to Daisuke who seemed happy just to be able to help out. “How to you feel?” he asked brightly.

“I—,” Ginko faltered, not expecting the words not great to get caught in this throat, but it was clear Adashino needed him to move—and quickly. “Better.”

One look at Adashino and Ginko knew that he knew it was a lie.

Ginko swallowed tightly and reached for his coat and backpack which were within arms-reach. Adashino begrudgingly helped Ginko back onto his feet. 

“I’m going to talk to Haku. Let him know you’re visiting,” Daisuke said, taking leave. "I don't want him to be surprised to see you later."

Adashino made a vague sound of acknowledgment. He slowly loosened his grip around Ginko as if testing how well he could hold his own.

And Ginko stumbled despite it. He kneaded the side of his head, rubbing out a headache, regaining balance. He watched Daisuke run further down the coastline where a boat had docked. 

“Unbelievable,” Adashino huffed in exasperation. He cautiously checked Ginko over, eyeing him up and down. “What happened to you back there?”

“Still trying to make sense of it myself,” Ginko replied. His head was still throbbing. He reached into his coat and took a cigarette between his lips. “Have you checked that place?”

“No. Although this whole experience with you is making me want to go check it out for myself.”

“Don’t,” Ginko exhaled heavily, squeezing the strap over his shoulder. 

“Still think it's mushi?”

Ginko was certain, though he didn't say it. He clenched the cigarette between his teeth.

Best to play it safe now and keep his interest away from there.

.

.

.

Haku was less than pleased to finally meet Ginko.

“I specifically warned you against people like this, Daisuke.” Haku looked forlorn at the boy. “Now you’re inviting this ne’er-do-well into our town against my wishes? Bah!” He slammed down a shipping crate. His crewmen took it and carried it away. 

Unlike the salt harvesters who worked in the sand terraces, these seafarers who spent their days on the ocean seemed unaffected by whatever malaise was plaguing the rest of the village. The warm wash of sunlight across the water faded into an amber afterglow.

Dusk was approaching.

Daisuke bristled. “Ginko is one of the best mushishi there is! That’s what Doctor Adashino said!"

Adashino smacked a hand over his face and squinted at the argument happening through the lines between his fingers. “Why are you dragging me into this, kid,” he muttered under his breath. “I still need to get paid for this.”

Ginko laughed. “At least you’re not the one getting called a ‘ne’er-do-well’.”

Adashino snickered at that.

Haku stormed in their direction then and they both straightened up, straight-faced.

Daisuke frantically pulled at the elder’s sleeve preventing him from full-on charging at them. When that was becoming useless, Daisuke dashed in front of him and placed himself between Ginko and Haku, arms barred out in either direction.

“It’s for my parents. Ginko is going to save them.”

Haku looked up curiously then at Ginko. “What lies have you been telling this child, mushishi? Filling his head with false hopes, are you?”

“It’s not like that,” Ginko said. It would be in his best interest to tread lightly. He was careful with what to say next. The way Haku said mushishi it was as if Ginko himself was the very threat here. “There’s more I have to learn here.”

“Bah!” Haku shoved Daisuke out of the way. “What is it that you want from us, mushishi? Is it money for your troubles? If it’s money you want, you can have it if you’ll be on your way.”

This was a bribe, not a threat, though it sounded like it could very much become one.

“There’s something strange in this village,” Ginko told Haku then. “I’m sure you’re aware, otherwise you wouldn’t have called on someone like Adashino and these others priests and doctors before him to come out here.”

Haku turned to Adashino then, ignoring Ginko altogether. “You’ve checked all my people then? They remain in good physical health?”

“For the most part, yes.”

Ginko lifted a curious brow. Adashino looked at him, then away once more, his expression peculiar and closed. 

“It’s the truth, Ginko,” Adashino told him.

“Very good!” Haku said.

“However,” Adashino continued. “The condition of the boy’s mother remains concerning.”

“Mhmm,” Haku nodded, “yes, very well. What do you recommend, doctor?”

Ginko was completely ignored. He chewed on the end of his cigarette.

“Keep massaging the back, feet and hands. It will help improve blood circulation and pressure for one. That goes for everyone here, but especially those who are catatonic like the boy's mother. There are some herbal mixtures I can recommend using ginseng and sage. You can pick up supplies on your next visit to my village. I’ll have a supply ready for you.”

“Very good,” Haku commended.

Daisuke spoke up then. “What does Ginko think?”

Haku glared at Ginko then, his eyes slit and edged. 

Ginko scratched the bottom of his chin. “It could help to move her out of this village for a few days,” he said, “see if that improves her condition. There could be something here—”

“There’s nothing here!” Haku snapped. “How dare you insult my home this way.”

Adashino wasn’t kidding, Ginko thought, hand faltering. This guy really had a sore spot toward mushishi.

“Daisuke,” Haku said sharply. “You’ve disrespected me by inviting this man into our town. I am disappointed and expected better from you. Your mother and father would be saddened by this poor example of judgment.”

“I…” Daisuke dropped his arms and looked away, digging his toes deeper into the sand. He dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around them.

Haku brushed a hand through his hair and sighed. “Forgive the boy, doctor,” he said, looking to Adashino when he addressed him while ignoring Ginko. “You know how children can be with their grandiose ideas.”

“Kids will be kids."

There was a pause as Haku nodded wordlessly. Behind him his crewmen were finishing unloading crates and securing what was needed with rope. The wind that blew in from the ocean was getting warmer with the rising tide, carrying with it the sharp salty scent of the sea. Rich blue seawater washed higher up onto the shore.

“Doctor Adashino,” Haku said, gathering a sack over his shoulder. “Will you be joining my crewmen and me for dinner?”

Adashino turned a quick eye over to Ginko, who pretended not to notice. He tapped ash and smoke from his cigarette and looked away, his own stomach growling audibly. They both knew he wouldn’t be welcomed.

“Sure,” Adashino said defeatedly, and Ginko could almost picture the contemplative frown that settled across his features when he said it. “Thank you.”

“Very good.” Haku stepped past Daisuke and patted the boy’s head fondly. It seemed to buoy the boy’s spirit. He then dragged his eyes over to Ginko. Their gaze lingered on one another for a few uninterrupted seconds. Haku’s eyes seemed to drill into him, iced and alight with anger. “I’m sorry for your troubles having come all this way for nothing, mushishi,” Haku told him politely enough. “I wish you well, and goodbye. I would advise you not return.”

Haku left Ginko alone with Daisuke, taking Adashino away with him.

.

.

.

“Have some more of this sake,” Inei told Ginko, filling his glass till it overflowed. “It will help.”

Ginko had lost count of how many times he had let Inei refill his cup by this point. The scents of cooked prawns and fresh citrus drifted from the kitchen tonight. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Daisuke outside the shop, slurping down a bowl of noodles, stargazing alone.

“Eh, don’t let that Haku get into your head,” Inei told him, voice laced with isolated warmth and gentle sorrow. “He doesn’t believe in what he cannot see, including mushi, so you can understand how he would be so skeptical of a mushishi like yourself.”

Ginko nodded and raised his cup to his lips.

Inei cleared his throat. “I met that doctor-friend of yours. Seems like a good fellow.”

Ginko shrugged, breathing in a lungful of smoke and sighing it out again. “He’s alright, I guess.”

Inei held a pipe between his lips. An easy smile crinkled his face.

Ginko drank stiffly.

“Were you able to talk to any of the villagers in town?”

“They don’t seem to be the talking type.”

“Ah, yeah,” Inei exhaled a stream of smoke. “It hasn’t always been this way, but things started changing after Haku lost his wife to this strange illness.”

Ginko blinked. “What sort of illness?”

“Ah, well. His wife started to become hypersensitive to seawater. If the smallest amount of water touched her skin, she would develop painful burns over her body. It was unlike anything I had ever witnessed.” Inei’s brows furrowed in concentration as he remembered what had happened. “She even had to be very careful about what water she drank in case it was contaminated with seawater. Haku and his wife planned to move out of this village. It was too dangerous for her to live so near to the ocean, especially when it became apparent her hypersensitivity was only getting worse.”

Ginko listened quietly.

“I’m afraid they never made it out. Haku and his wife took a boat that was heading more inland, but there was an accident. It capsized. She went underwater. Her death was not pleasant,” Inei shrugged and leaned against the table, helping himself to more sake. “Haku became a changed man after that.”

Ginko nodded. He was reminded of a mushi known as water-poison mushi dokutsumi— mushi that lived in saltwater and were relatively harmless, but during the spring tide, when the earth, sun and moon were aligned and the tides were highest, the dokutsumi were known to bloom and synthesize the water with a byproduct that when ingested, could cause the host to develop highly-allergic reaction to the seawater where that mushi had existed. It was possible, Ginko thought, that Haku’s wife ate a fish tainted with this dokutsumi.

Inei threw his head in his hands and sighed. 

Ginko frowned as Inei’s outward behavior caught up to him. That must have been the day Haku saved him from being stranded out at sea. “You were there?” 

“I was.”

Inei took a shaky breath then and tried to force a smile. “But, my days spent on the sea are over now,” he said, throwing back what remained of his sake down his throat. “I’ve not been on the water since. Hey you—!”

Ginko’s eyes flicked over to Inei’s wife, who cleaned away their empty dishes.

“More sake!” Inei demanded from her. “I’m entertaining our mushishi-friend tonight.”

His wife threw him a heated look, but moments later she procured a fresh bottle of sake.

“Thank you,” Ginko murmured to her, feeling a bit warm.

“Ah, I am sorry, my mushishi-friend, for dragging down this evening with such stories,” Inei told him. 

Ginko shook his head, feeling slightly fuzzy. “It’s fine,” he said.

“So,” Inei started. “How long do you plan on staying here?”

“Not long, though I should see Daisuke’s parents one more time,” Ginko said. When he looked out the open door, outside the shop however, he noticed Daisuke was now gone. 

Ginko shook his head and tugged on the ends of his hair.

Inei deliberately cleared his throat, pouring him another sake. “And what’s your story?” he asked. “How does one become a mushishi—?”

“It's...” Ginko rubbed his hands over his thighs, rose to his feet and excused himself. “...a story for another time. Thank you for the food and drink tonight, but I should really get going.”

“Oi! Already?” Inei scoffed. “What’s your hurry? There are no good places to stay outside of this village for a long while. You’re welcome to stay here for the night.”

Ginko ran a hand through his hair, head a little bleary as he walked toward the door. “I should go check in on...” he worried then he was showing his hand a bit too much. “...someone.”

“Eh,” Inei sighed and sat back, blowing out a thick cloud of smoke from his pipe. “Don’t worry about Daisuke. That kid can take care of himself.”

Ginko did consider that.

“Or is it that doctor-friend of yours you want to go see?” Inei suggested, voice soft and face impassive. “I would not concern myself with him either, nor would I go back down to that village tonight if I were you, mushishi.”

He’s right. Ginko knew it. Don’t do it.

Inei tried calling him back. “Please, mushishi. I will not ask again, but I ask you to consider this. Stay here tonight. You can leave in the morning.”

"Thank you for the offer," Ginko told him and meant it.

He headed towards the ocean.

.

.

.

The wind off the water was warm at night. The night sea was whipped with seafoam the color of water chestnuts and shimmered like pale smoke. Heavy swells remained illuminated under moon-pierced water and starlight. 

Along the coastline, homes were softly lit. 

Further down the coast was a gathering. As Ginko got closer he could feel the warmth of fire. The aroma of roasted sea prawns, grilled fish and fresh citrus and ginger root crisp in the air. People were talking, laughing. He stumbled onto softer sand and swept the coastline for any sign of Adashino.

It was Adashino who found him first. 

“Ginko, hey!” Adashino greeted him warmly. He threw one hand firm over his shoulder, coming up to him before anyone else could.

The only light reaching them was from the moon and the orange glow of the bonfire nearby, and it gleamed over his monocle. His face was close when he smiled. It was the kind of smile that was barely there—kind and amused, but not in a mean way. He dropped his voice down to a whisper. “Is everything okay?” The ocean-rush sound of his breath when he spoke was barely audible over the laughter emanating further down shore. “You know Haku isn’t going to like seeing you back here.”

In his other hand, which Adashino held near his hip, Ginko noticed the bleached ceramic dish which he held. It had been filled with sake, but not just any sake. 

This was kouki .

Ginko went absolutely still. “Where did you get that?” he asked.

“Hm?” Adashino looked down at his half-empty cup then back to Ginko. “Oh this? Heh, there’s a sake brewer who lives further up the coast from here. He brews a special batch of this stuff for Haku and his men.”

“Inei?”

Adashino blinked after a short, surprised pause. “That’s right.”

“HEY DOC! WHO YOU TALKING TO?”

“OH I KNOW THAT GUY! HE WAS HERE EARLIER.”

“BRING HIM OVER, DOC! LET’S MEET HIM.”

Adashino looked back to the men and waved. He grit back a tense smile and glanced over at Ginko as if he wasn’t sure what to expect from him—like he was expecting something bad to happen.

Ginko went to meet them around the fire, and Adashino’s hand fell away from his shoulder. All the men’s cups were also filled with kouki and sitting on the northside of the beach was Haku. The energy here was rich and electric, like a tidal surge. Something heavy was stirring in the air.

Adashino was quick to stand next to him and hooked one arm around his neck. He kept glancing between Ginko and Haku like he couldn’t decide whom it would be better to keep an eye on. “Hey, everyone! This is Ginko. He’s a good friend of mine.”

“WHAT’S WITH THAT HAIR OF HIS?”

“HE LOOKS LIKE AN OLD MAN!”

“DON’T BE RUDE!”

All the men's cheeks were flushed from laughter, except for Haku who approached them both then, sorely unimpressed to see Ginko standing there.

“Haku!” Adashino greeted brightly. His arm slid down to his waist, holding Ginko protectively close now. “Ginko promises not to say a word about anything tonight, isn’t that right, Ginko?”

Don't mention anything about mushi.

Haku folded his arm over his chest, breath hitching audibly. In an unexpected gesture, he took Ginko’s hand into his and patted it invitingly. His fingers were cold and callused. “Come, come. It is fine."

Swashing waves smashed over the shore near them. Seawater black as ink drooled across the beach before drifting back into the ocean in rolling flows. 

“My men and I were starting a little game,” Haku informed Ginko, guiding him away from Adashino then. The men he referred to were gathered around the fire. They took careful sips from their cups and stared at Ginko come closer. “Come join us.”

Someone handed Ginko a cup filled with kouki but Haku blocked Ginko’s next step forward, causing him to stumble.

“Now, now,” Haku laughed and his men followed suit. “I think this one has had enough sake for one night. You’ve been spending too much time with that old man Inei, haven’t you? Why don’t you take it easy and rest.”

Ginko became acutely aware of the glass bottles scattered around them, some half-buried in the sand. Haku selected one and handed it to him, and Ginko cradled it in his palm, curious.

It contained a single black beetle.

Adashino sat across from them on the other side of the bonfire, observing Ginko one last time before resuming the lighthearted conversation he must have been sharing with some others before Ginko arrived.

“Are you a gambling man, Ginko?” Haku asked him, sitting next to him. A glass box framed with bamboo trim, polished and well-crafted, rested between them. The top was sealed with a clear glass drop-in lid, but the box itself was crafted with glass panels on all sides. It was empty.

“Not really,” Ginko replied, eyes shifting across the sand. This ground here was rich with kouki yet no one else seemed to be aware of it. High overhead the air was teeming with something heavier, darker. The weight of the air was not unlike how it was at the salt harvesters’ storage.

One of the nearby men burst into laughter. “Com’on, Haku. This guy doesn’t have what it takes to play.”

“No, no. Let’s give him a chance. He is our guest here tonight. Here, Ginko. We’ll make it easy on him. Take this.”

Haku reached into the folds of his shirt and handed him a folded piece of paper. “Do not open it yet,” he told him. “It is only yours if you win here tonight."

Ginko studied the folded paper in his hands. “What is it?”

A chorus of laughter erupted around him. 

“It’s money!” someone said. “Haku has given you money.”

“On the house,” Haku concurred.

Ginko studied the folded paper in his hands. 

Haku smiled humbly. “I didn’t mean to give you any wrong impression earlier, Ginko,” he said. “This day has been a hard one. I hope you will understand and forgive my ways.”

Ginko nodded. “There is nothing to forgive.”

“Very good!” Haku accepted. “Now who wants to explain the rules of the game to our guest here?”

“Ah,” one of the men volunteered to do so, ushering Ginko’s attention to the bottle in his hand. “See that beetle you have there? When you are ready, you will drop it into that glass box you see next to you.”

“That’s right!” another man chimed. “We all have our own insects to add here. When we’re ready, we’ll add them all in there and let them fight one another until only one survives—that’s the winner.”

Ginko kneaded the side of head, knowing he may have drunk a little more than he should have earlier. 

One of the men checked in with him. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Ginko echoed.

“Good!”

Haku moved the glass box between the players.

“Ginko should go first!” one of the men suggested. 

“Hey, that’s an unfair disadvantage!” another man reminded him. “As I recall, the last winner is first to play which makes it your turn.”

There was a groan from the other, but the man played his turn. He uncapped the glass bottle he had and shook a sea roach into the box. Someone else added a spider. Another, a mantis. Then another type of beetle was added. The insects all blended together, bumping into one another and crawling up the edges of the glass. Everyone was waiting on Ginko to go next. 

“They’re not fighting,” Ginko said, watching them crawl overtop one another. 

“We’ll give the box a good shake once everyone has added theirs," someone said. "Maybe splash a little sand in there. That will get them going.”

Ginko sighed and tangled his fingers into his own hair. He did as he was told for sake of this game and tipped his glass bottle upside down, pouring his black beetle into the mix.

One of the men slammed the glass lid on top, sealing it shut. He gave it a good shake and all the men huddled around it. While the men watched what Ginko could only assume was a fight, Ginko turned the folded piece of paper Haku had given him over in his palm. 

It felt strangely empty. There couldn't be any money in here.

Haku observed him quietly from a distance.

“Don’t believe there’s actual money in there, do you?” he told Ginko. “Open it and see for yourself.”

Ginko leaned back just far enough to unfold his legs. He pulled a knee to his chest and rested his elbow across his upright knee, unfolding the paper out of curiosity.

Wrapped in the paper was crumpled parchment. It was heavily soaked in some liquid. He unfolded the parchment, smoothing it out across the unfolded paper. There was also something written on it, but it was too dark to read. The print was too fine and seemed smudged out by what seemed to be tar-like tree sap. Ginko angled the parchment toward the light of the fire to get a better look. His lashes fluttered weakly against the brightness of the firelight. “What is this?” he wondered.

The thin dark paste coating the inside of the paper was syrupy, chalky but strangely bittersweet like over-seeped jasmine and ammonia. Ginko rubbed the paste out with his thumb, trying to reveal the writing underneath, but nothing was written.

It was nothing. The scent was immensely strong on his hands now. He could almost taste it at the back of his throat. 

His eyes widened at the sudden realization.

He had been drugged. 

Ginko lost his grip on the paper, and the parchment fell from his other hand. He shook his head and rubbed at his eyes, trying to clear his mind.

Haku approached him slowly. He grinded the paper under the heel of his shoe, digging it deep into the sand, burying it.

Ginko slid his hands from his face. There was a warm exhale against his neck. The heat from the fire was suddenly suffocating and blurred everything into a haze. Haku whispered in his ear so no one else could hear. “I can’t have you leave like this,” he said. “You stuck your nose in where it didn’t belong, and now you’ve seen too much.”

It was as if the ground beneath his feet was shifting, violent and unstable like seawater caught in a storm. Ginko slipped onto his hands and knees. He gripped the sand, grains slipping through his fingers.

Bystanders took notice and laughed.

“OI! LOOKS LIKE SOMEONE HAD TOO MUCH TO DRINK!”

“WHAT’S WRONG? CAN’T HANDLE A LITTLE SAKE?”

Next thing Ginko knew, Adashino was at his side.

“What happened, Ginko?” Adashino asked, eyes running over his face. He placed a gentle hand over his back one hand and pressed his fingers firmly around his wrist with the other, feeling the blue veins that ran under his skin. Checking his pulse. “What did you take?”

Ginko was still unclear what it was he had inhaled. He didn’t trust himself to speak—couldn’t even he had wanted. He bowed his head, his mind spinning in nauseating circles.

“Ah, doctor!” Haku assured him, voice soft and oily. “It seems your friend had a little too much to drink tonight. Help me carry him to my home. He should sleep it off there.”

Adashino wrapped an arm around his waist and lifted him to his feet, shifting Ginko’s weight across his back, helping to lift him. Ginko was able to take some of his own weight, but he could feel his consciousness slipping, drowning him softly.

“Come, come." Haku led the way. "I’ll help you inside.”

As they drew closer to his home, their feet stepped across cracked brick-hard clay flanked by sand dunes. Haku held the door open, helping them into his home.

Adashino lowered Ginko to the floor while Haku lit a bedside lamp. The lamp was wrapped in silk to protect the flame within from the wind. 

The salt-crusted windows skewed the moonlight that filtered through them, casting shadows across the floor, but what captured Ginko’s attention were the hundreds upon hundreds of glass bottles that surrounded them. They lined the walls on shelves that wrapped around the entire perimeter of the home. Many were filled with kouki but plenty others caged mushi samples; and some of those that were contained were unmistakably sanekui.

Weakened mushi had a radiant light brighter than usual when they were near death. Those that were dripped from the ceiling here. Some remained suspended in the air. Others dropped around Ginko, endlessly drawn to him as they always were. The light they emanated was too bright, but Ginko refused to look away. He knew if he did, he might lose what little consciousness he was struggling to hold on to.

“Adashino.”

It took great effort to call out to his friend. The name choked out in a torn whisper. Even Haku seemed surprised by this.

"Yeah?"

Mushi shimmered around him in a dangerous pattern.

“You can’t stay here," Ginko managed to tell him.

Adashino closed his lips and studied Ginko’s face, saying nothing. 

Haku towered beside Adashino and threw Ginko a furious, desperate look. “Of course he won’t be.” He addressed Adashino next, patting him toward the open door. “Come, doctor. There are people waiting for us out there. You heard from Ginko yourself. He does not need you to stay here.”

“No, I think I’ll stay,” Adashino decided.

Haku tilted his head, looking worn. “Doctor,” he said, the word hissing between his teeth. “Let Ginko be alone here tonight. You told me yourself how responsible he is and how he can take care of himself.”

“Not now I don't,” Adashino grumbled, arms crossed and unimpressed. He kneeled next to Ginko and held his wrist, checking his pulse. It must not have been good for him to keep checking it like this. "Damn it, Ginko. What did you take?"

"He will be fine, doctor," Haku tried to tell him again. "Your friend had a little too much to drink. It happens to everyone."

"No. This is something else."

Adashino stepped away to retrieve a bag placed near the window. While his attention was turned from them, Haku reached for a glass bottle lining the wall. It contained sanekui. Within the glass, the sanekui swirled gently around the bottle. 

Haku removed the lid then and allowed the sanekui to spill out around them. They drifted calmly through the air around them. Their behavior was nothing like it was when they swarmed. Their movement here was more steady like the gentle swells in the ocean. 

When the sanekui began drifting toward Ginko then, Haku took a bone-carved flute into his hand and played a note—a loud high-pitched whistle. That sound. A chill slid down his spine. The sanekui settled and drifted to the ground, writhing as if in pain.

They pulled away.

Haku seemed pleased with himself.

Adashino knelt beside Ginko, unaware of anything out of the ordinary that was happening though he did raise his head curiously at the sound. 

“Sorry,” Haku chuckled softly, tucking the bone-carved flute under his arm. “Practicing a song for later. You know how we always like to end the night.”

Adashino didn’t question it further. His focus was entirely on Ginko now. He lifted the back of his palm over his mouth and held it there. Checking his breathing. 

“I’ll be back to check in on you both later,” Haku told Adashino. When he left, the sanekui he had released left with him.

Haku had them under his control.

Ginko struggled to steady his own breathing.

Once they were alone, Adashino frowned. “You’ve been drugged,” he told Ginko. Adashino wiped the beads of sweat that were forming on his temples. “There's nothing I can give you for this. The best I can do is make sure you’re still breathing by morning."

The high-pitched sounds of the bone-carved flute could still be heard from here. Ginko tried rolling over onto his side. They had to get back outside. Ginko needed to see what was happening out there. See what Haku was doing to control the mushi—if he actually was.

Ginko felt as if he was going to be sick. His consciousness kept crumpling like paper, and he eased onto his knees and forearms, leaning forward. He cleared his throat and coughed, but once he started he couldn't stop coughing. The fit lasted several moments, leaving him utterly exhausted in the end. When Ginko pulled his hand from his mouth, a thick, warm liquid drenched his palm, running slowly through his fingers and falling in small droplets to the floor below.

Adashino’s calm demeanor broke, shock making its way into his face.

It was blood.

Ginko shook his head, still struggling to clear the haze from his mind. 

Adashino wiped the blood away from his hand, hesitating only to peer at Ginko’s face before wiping the blood from his lips.

“I’m fine,” Ginko managed to spit out—and it was the truth. Coughing seemed to clear his lungs and give him some needed relief. “Help me up.”

“You can’t be serious.” 

Ginko choked out a laugh, a sound that was mostly a thrum in the back of his throat. He felt across the floor, hoping for a nearby wall to help push himself up onto his feet...

...he grabbed onto Adashino instead. 

Adashino caught him before he could fall and resigned himself to being a crutch, hefting him up. “How did I get stuck spending my time here hauling your ass everywhere?” he groaned.

Ginko took one step forward before tightening his grip around Adashino’s sleeve, crushing the soft fabric between his fingers like a lifeline.

“Haku can see the mushi.” Ginko needed Adashino to know. “They’re here.”

Adashino gaped and squinted around the home. “Where?”

“They’re everywhere.”

Adashino’s face half-fell in understanding as to why Ginko had told him he couldn’t stay here—and yet he had been as Haku’s guest for the past few nights. “I’ve not noticed.”

“He's been protecting you,” Ginko said.

Adashino helped him outside.

The warm air off the water cut static-like through his sweat-soaked clothes, sending a chill into Ginko that was colder than it otherwise might have been. He strained his eyes, searching up and down the coastline. 

The night air shifted delicately with the sanekui seen drifting in the wind, thinly rippling like dust under the moonlight. That same loud high-pitched whistle could be heard from here, but it had taken a more melodic tune. The sanekui visibly writhed, barely discernible to Ginko over the light of the bonfire and moonlit sea as they then scattered over the ocean.

Haku was manipulating the mushi in a way that was unfamiliar to Ginko. He had protected Adashino somehow—been protecting him as he still protected his people.

The sanekui spread across the ocean like a thinning veil. The ocean illuminated brighter than before and could have easily been mistaken as bioluminescent algae, and it confirmed what Ginko feared. The sanekui were feasting, devouring mushi that resided within the seawater.

“I’m going down there,” Ginko said, attempting to step forward on his own now.

Adashino held him fast. “The hell you’re not.”

Suddenly the melody from the flute was altered, and Ginko winced at the scalding pitch. It was like a cacophony in his skull, though Adashino did not seem affected by it the same way. 

Ginko tried taking another step forward again and once more, Adashino stopped him. He held one arm around his back and another to his sternum.

The sanekui retreated from the ocean and spread into the village next. They scattered the darkness, twisting the night a shade deeper, a shade stronger. Ginko watched as the sanekui seeped into homes then. His mind raced around the thoughts of Daisuke and his parents.

Had Haku failed to protect them?

And why.

When Ginko tried taking another step a third time, Adashino’s palm flattened against Ginko’s stomach—a warning. “Stop it."

“You don’t have to do this,” Ginko said. He forced a thin smile. Be my doctor.

“Whatever drugged you back there could have killed you,” Adashino said, averting his gaze and seeming somewhat self-conscious over his own fretting. “Do you know what happened?”

If Ginko told the truth now, Adashino would never let him get close to Haku. 

Another high-pitched whistle sliced through the atmosphere. A sharp, painful ache drilled through his head and wormed through him. “That flute,” Ginko lamented, eyes sliding over to the coast where people were gathered. The bonfire still burned strong. It was as if his internal equilibrium was knocked off-balance every time Ginko heard that awful flute. 

Adashino acknowledged it, tilting his head. “Haku plays that flute every night.”

The sanekui shifted and spread themselves in a thin veil across the dunes. They started to approach the house now. A vile bitterness filled the back of his throat like the taste of a dark memory. Ginko clenched his jaw and stepped away, forcing Adashino another step back.

“Get inside.”

Adashino muttered and griped under his breath, but did as he was told, assisting Ginko back into Haku's home. As soon as they were there, Ginko broke away from the hold Adashino had around him and attempted to reach for a glass bottle filled with kouki.

Bad idea.

The room tipped and spun. Ginko crumpled as his barely regained strength immediately dissolved. 

Adashino managed to catch him before he hit the floor with full force. “Damn it, Ginko!”

Ginko shifted in an attempt to sit up. “I’m alright,” he said tightly, pointing toward any one of the many bottles filled with kouki lining the nearby wall. “Hand me one of those bottles.” He turned a pained look to Adashino, whose resolve was failing. He sighed deeply and did as he was told.

“Which one?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Adashino took a bottle from a shelf, inspecting it up close. “It’s only sake.”

“It’s not.”

As soon as Adashino handed him the bottle, Ginko emptied it. He poured the kouki across the floor and threw more over the door frame. It might not be enough. “I need more,” he said, the desperation in his voice audible.

Adashino paused at the rawness of his voice, but did as he was told. This time he offered to help. “Tell me where you want it.”

“Around the entrance.”

Without question, Adashino emptied it around the door.

Ginko shuddered, his attention flicked to the sanekui that drifted closer to the house. They were running out of time.

He had encountered the sanekui only once before this when he had accompanied Kumado to that place where mushi flowed from their deep underground source. There they have been swarming, disturbed by the disruption of life occuring around them.

It was very unlike the calming movements of the sanekui that existed here.

That did not make them any less dangerous.

“Light it on fire.”

“What?”

Ginko nodded to the bedside lamp. “Use that.”

Adashino raised his gaze to the lamp in question. His jaw tightened as he considered what he was about to do and his attention drew down to Ginko, who must have appeared uncharacteristically stricken, because Adashino did it. He removed the silk covering the lamp, lit the fabric on fire and tossed it over the kouki.

Ginko called out to him, urgent. “Get behind me.”

Once his friend was within reaching distance, Ginko grabbed onto him. He unfurled his fingers from Adashino’s clothes once he was behind him, eyes fixated on the advancing sanekui.

It was reassuring to know Adashino had kouki flowing through his veins. That would offer protection he would not otherwise have now, but how much it would protect him was unknown.

When the silk ignited on the floor, the kouki did not burn. They did not erupt into flame, but simmered with an unearthly light, steaming and permeating the air with an unnatural life. The stagnant air was charged with energy created from the kouki . It barricaded the sanekui from passing through the door. Ginko watched as the mushi seemed to consume one another, but all Adashino would've been able to see was the charred silk and ash that remained on the floor. 

"What are you looking at?" Adashino asked him.

The air rippled around them, even after the flame died out. As the silk continued to burn, the smoke entered into his lungs. Ginko covered his mouth, and coughed, feeling vaguely worse now. A subtle metallic taste permeated his mouth. Something deep inside his lungs felt wet, and each breath he took was agonizingly sharp. He pressed a hand over his chest. Adashino remained crouched beside him. 

Ginko avoided meeting his gaze. He knew Adashino was watching him closely. 

“What happened?” Adashino asked.

The sanekui were gone.

“Ginko.”

Ginko finally turned to face him. "Yeah?"

“You’re bleeding.” 

Blood dripped to the floor. 

Unclear where the blood was coming from, Ginko look down at his hands. They were dry, stained red, but any blood he had coughed up earlier had been cleaned, wiped away.

Adashino wiped a thumb over his lower lip. “Here,” he said, showing him the fresh blood running from the corner of his lips. “It's internal.”

Ginko blinked. “I…” his voice sounded wet, slightly gargled. It had for the past while, but he was more consciously aware of it now that they weren’t in immediate danger.

He still needed to confront Haku. Ask him about what was happening here, and now Ginko knew what Haku has always known. He too had the ability to see mushi.

Ginko attempted to rise once again. He placed his hands over Adashino, one hand on each shoulder and tried to haul himself up.

Adashino wrapped his own hands around Ginko and forced him back down. “Stop this,” he said. “You’re going to actually kill yourself if you keep this up.”

“It’s Haku,” Ginko managed to tell him. “He’s responsible for what’s happening here in this town. He sees mushi. Same as I do. And he knows that I know.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes.”

“Well we don't have to talk about it now,” he said, subtly shaking his head, saying nothing further to entertain this notion. "You need to rest."

Ginko bowed his head, coughing to clear the residual ache in his chest.

“Let me clean up around here first,” Adashino insisted. "You shouldn't be here when Haku returns."

Ginko let him go. He remained sitting, but his eyelids fell shut. He heard Adashino leave the room and return a moment later. Something draped over his shoulders. Ginko snapped open his eyes and pulled away.

“Relax,” Adashino said calmly. “It’s a blanket.”

Ginko blinked, and his friend slid back into focus. He shook the blanket around him. The embroidery of the silk was similar to that woven by Daisuke’s mother. Something touched his brow, pushed his hair back and rested there. Ginko inhaled a bitter scent of smoke and burnt tea leaves, but the touch was cool and tender.

“Let’s get you outside,” Adashino told him. He already had a bag packed. 

Ginko nodded and allowed Adashino to help him to his feet.

Once outside, Adashino released an uneasy breath. “How do you feel?”

Ginko ran a tongue over his lips and smiled thin. Not so good. His gaze slid over the coastline where Haku and his people still remained and appeared to be having a good time, blissfully unaware of all mushi that had been exterminated that evening.

How long had this been going on?

Adashino wasn’t taking them any closer to the coastline.

Ginko frowned, his breathing labored. “Where are we going?” 

Adashino readjusted the silk blanket draped over his shoulders. “Someplace where you’ll be safer.”

They arrived in front of a small cottage—Daisuke’s home.

The young boy opened the door to his cottage when Adashino knocked and let them inside.

“Ginko?”

As Adashino lowered Ginko to the ground, Daisuke hovered over them. “What’s wrong with Ginko?”

“He needs to rest someplace safe,” Adashino explained. “Can he stay here tonight with you, Daisuke?”

Daisuke nodded and helped Adashino adjust the blanket around him. “I’ll bring him another,” Daisuke said, dashing further into the house to fetch it. He returned with both another blanket and pillow.

"Wait." Ginko grabbed Adashino’s forearm. “Where are you going?”

Adashino shook his arm out of Ginko’s grasp with barely any effort. “To talk to Haku. I know he was the one who drugged you,” he said. “And I have to know with what.”

Daisuke spoke then. “I bet it was opium.”

Maybe he already assumed as much, but Adashino did not seem surprised. “What makes you say that?”

“Haku imports it. Ryu and I broke into a crate of it once by mistake. Made him sick like this and everything too. We had a doctor come to see him. He gave Ryu something and it seemed to help.”

Adashino nodded. “Probably an atropine,” he said. “Could've been some sort of nightshade. I can see why it would have helped, but it’s too risky, and I can’t administer anything like that in this case. It could do more harm than good to you, Ginko,” he said, now addressing him. “The most important thing is to make sure you stay breathing throughout the night. If your condition stays stable like this until morning, you should be fine.”

“Ginko could really stop breathing?” Daisuke asked.

“He won’t,” Adashino said calmly. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Daisuke visibly relaxed.

“Daisuke,” Ginko said, becoming increasingly more aware of each breath he took. “What do you know about that flute Haku has in his possession?”

“He’s had it for as long as I can remember,” Daisuke said, kneeling close to Ginko. “Well wait, no.” There was a pause. “Ever since his Akiko died.”

"Akiko?"

"His wife."

Ginko exhaled softy. “I want to see that flute.”

“You’re not doing anything else tonight,” Adashino said.

Ginko ignored him. He was going to get a good look at that flute whether or not Adashino allowed him or not.

“I’ll get it for you,” Daisuke offered.

Adashino threw the kid a stern look.

“Yeah!” Daisuke was remarkably bright-eyed at this late hour. “I’ll sneak it from him when he isn’t looking. He keeps it in the storehouse behind his home. I can break into it.”

Adashino sighed. “This sounds like a terrible idea.”

“Ryu and I used to do it all the time!” Daisuke circled around Adashino, eager to help. “I can do it.”

“Let him go, Adashino," Ginko told him.

Adashino raked his hand messily through his hair and relented. “Fine. Be quick about it,” he said, gaze dropping down to Ginko. “Haku is going to wonder what happened to you when he finds you gone.”

“He’ll be wondering about you too.”

“He knows it was Daisuke who sent for you. He may come looking for us here next.”

Daisuke was already putting on his sandals, listening to them discuss it. “Just don't let him in if he comes here,” he said. "Tell him I said so."

Adashino didn't answer either way.

Ginko watched Daisuke slide the door shut, heard the quick claps from his sandals running against the black slate leading away from his home.

They were alone.

.

.

.

There wasn’t one thing Daisuke had always enjoyed about living in this remote beachside town. It was all the little things that he had grown to have around him. Collecting seashells and sea stones and stringing them into trinkets and accessories with Eiko. Exploring places that were forbidden by the village elders with Ryu.

The salt harvesters’ storage house was one. The storehouse behind Haku’s home was the other.

Daisuke always had a deep respect for Haku. After his mother had fallen ill, he helped support his family. She used to weave the finest silks this side of the province and her work always fetched a high price. After she fell ill, however, Haku started taking Daisuke under his wing.

He showed him how to sail and handle a boat. Taught him about ocean currents and movements of the wind. Showed him all the things his own father had never known. Haku even gave him his first taste of sake around the evening bonfire with the rest of his men.

Nevertheless Daisuke still feared him.

Haku was a vindictive man known for showing little remorse to those who betrayed him, and Daisuke had stepped far out of his depth by bringing a mushishi here to their village. If Haku caught him tonight snooping around his storehouse, he would be far less forgiving than he had been when he first met Ginko.

The wind blowing from the sea was warm and comforting, but it slackened now as if weary and filled the night air with only the listless, rhythmic ticking of beetles and crickets. The bonfire on the coast was dying down to smoldering embers. Those villagers who still remained began to clear the shore. Haku would be amongst those returning home for the night.

Daisuke ran a little faster.

He reached Haku’s home, stricken by the smell of smoke that emanated around it. Breaking into the storehouse now wouldn’t do him any good. What he came for—that flute—would still be on Haku. Daisuke squatted low in the beachgrass, waiting for him to come.

Clouds formed under the stars while he waited, dimming the sky. When Haku finally appeared, Daisuke knew something was off about him. Haku circumvented the straight path to his home and walked the perimeter around it instead, checking his home from all angles as if detecting something about it was not right. Once Haku did enter his home, he did not remain there for long. He stumbled back onto the outside cracked brick-hard clay and looked around him, a wild look in his eyes.

Haku was angry.

Daisuke did not dare approach him, but he did follow the elder now. He was cautious to keep his distance. It didn’t take long for him to realize Haku was heading toward his home next. Once they were within sight of it, Daisuke revealed himself:

“Haku.”

Haku was slow to face him. His movements were languid and clumsy. He was drunk. “Ah, Daaaaisuke!” he greeted, falling back a step. A set of dark eyes were now upon Daisuke and Haku squinted as if his vision was attempting to lock and hold. “What are you doing awake at this hour?”

“I’m here to stop you,” Daisuke said in disbelief of his own words midway as they were spoken.

Haku laughed at that. “Stop me?” he pursed his lips. “What is it you intend to stop me from doing here?”

“You tried to hurt Ginko.”

“Boy. There are things in which you don’t understand,” Haku told him. “Do not concern yourself with this matter.”

“And my mother!” Daisuke jutted his chin, openly challenging. He swallowed sourly. “You hurt her too, didn’t you?”

Haku’s eyes darkened. “Enough. What other lies has that mushishi been telling you?”

“I’ve always suspeccted it,” Daisuke said. “You never liked how she was sympathetic toward mushi—”

“—your mother got in my way.”

Daisuke paled. His eyes widened. 

“Then your father went snooping around places where he didn’t belong. What happened to him was an accident. I am sorry for that.”

Daisuke balled his hands into fists.

And Haku laughed .

“What next, Daisuke? Are you going to fight me now? You think you can take me on?"

Tears sprang to his eyes. Daisuke lunged at him, fist swinging.

Haku dodged him easily, pivoting his foot back a step and laughing when Daisuke stumbled forward without making contact. “Stop this foolishness, boy.”

Daisuke saw a pale gleam from the bone-carved flute tucked under his right forearm.

He lunged for it next.

Haku backhanded him. 

Daisuke was thrust back from the force of the hit. He struck the ground and cried out.

“Learn your place,” Haku told him. He then turned his back on him and closed in on his home.

.

.

.

“Someone’s coming,” Adashino said, stepping away from the window.

"Haku?"

"Yeah."

Ginko considered that, and his nose twitched. “Great. Just who I wanted to see.” He lifted himself from the ground. The silk blankets covering him slid around his waist. He leaned his head over his knees, kneaded his knuckles over chest and cleared his throat.

Adashino knelt over him then and placed a hand over his shoulder, squeezing gently. “Don't get up.”

Ginko shrugged Adashino’s hand away, but the retreat was gentle.

Adashino studied him for a moment, then his expression hardened. “I’m serious,” he said, fussing the blanket several times before smoothing it over his shoulders and forcing Ginko to lie back down. “Stay here and don’t do anything stupid. I’m going to go out and talk to him.”

Ginko rolled his eyes and coughed lightly, but remained where he was. There was a whisper in the air, heavy and settling around him wrong. He waited for Adashino to step outside and slide the door behind him before leveraging himself off the ground, grimacing as he lifted himself higher.

.

.

.

The early hours of the morning, after midnight and before dawn the sky was silky black. There was the start of a chill to the air as cooler winds started blowing in from the ocean now.

“Adaaaashino!” Haku addressed him when Adashino came out to greet him outside the entrance.

Daisuke was nowhere to be seen.

“I was curious to know where you went," Haku continued.

“Yeah,” Adashino said. “Felt it would be better staying here tonight.”

“That mushishi is with you I presume.”

“He’s resting now, but yes.”

“Doctor…” and Haku used the formality with a hint of disdain. “I must ask you not to interfere in the delicate balance at play here. You do not understand the risk he is placed upon my town by his presence alone.”

“I doubt that,” Adashino replied.

“Step aside, doctor.”

Adashino narrowed his eyes. As far as he could tell, Haku carried no weapons. Drugs on the other hand was another story. If he managed to take Ginko down, then the risk was just as prevalent to him. Adashino kept his distance.

“I think you should leave,” Adashino told him.

A heaviness overshadowed Haku’s being. “You are out of your depth here, doctor,” he said. “Now step aside.”

Adashino crossed his arms over his chest and rested easily on his heels. “No, I don’t think I will.”

Haku flashed a smile and stepped closer. “Don’t make me fight you on this. You’re nothing but a village doctor. I sail these strong seas and have insufferable losses. Do not test me on this. I ask you once more. Please step aside.”

Adashino did not move. “You’re not welcome here,” he said. “Not my rules.” Then thought to throw in, “but even if they weren’t I think my answer would still be the same.”

Haku grabbed him. He shoved Adashino into the back wall of the cottage

The force of his back striking the stones and wooden knocked the air from his chest. Adashino tried to push Haku off him, but that only resulted in Haku tightening his grasp around his arms, keeping Adashino firmly pinned against the wall.

Adashino couldn’t break his hold.

Then the entrance door slid open.

And Ginko emerged.

.

.

.

“Let him go.”

Haku did as he was told without a fight and turned his full attention on to Ginko. 

There was a strange pressure in his ribcage, and Ginko pressed his fingers to his sternum. Every breath wheezed from deep inside his chest. His arm braced against the doorframe.

“You don’t look so good, mushishi,” Haku mumbled, half-laughing at that.

Ginko flashed a smile. He averted his gaze, knowing Adashino would be glowering after Ginko disregarded what he had been clearly told not to do. Ginko squeezed his eyes shut. He focused on his breathing and speaking the words that followed. “I know that you’re responsible for what’s been happening here. This soul-wasting disease has been caused by your doing.”

“It is not as bad as the people here make it sound,” Haku said. 

“If you’ve known the truth all along,” Adashino started, “why do you keep calling for help to come to this place?”

Haku placed his hands out in front of him, fingers curled under his palms. Tucked under his right hand was his flute. “I still must care for my people. Tend to their physical well-being even if their souls have wasted away.”

“You’re the only one to blame for how they now are,” Adashino said.

“No!” Haku hissed. He shook his head in frustration as he turned his back on Ginko to address Adashino. “I am cleansing this place from ever having to suffer from the pain caused by these accursed mushi ever again.” Haku turned on Ginko. “But I could never expect a mushishi like yourself to understand.”

Ginko huffed. “This way of life cannot be sustained. Take a look at your salt harvesters. How do you explain their temperament? Look at how they’ve been affected.”

Haku reclined his head and sighed. “Working so close to a place where mushi can flow so openly into this world of the living is not without risk. You of all people should understand why I work so hard to provide the kouki I can to them. It protects what little remains of their soul. What has not been already consumed by those soul-devouring mushi. ”

“You've been manipulating them,” Ginko said.

"So what if I have," Haku shot back revealing the bone-carved flute in his grasp. "Crafted from fossilized sanekui themselves. Sourced from these very sand terraces."

Adashino’s eyes widened.

Ginko frowned, his breathing labored. “If you keep doing this,” he warned. “You’ll only work to further undo the balance of life here.”

“Mushishi,” Haku growled threateningly. “Leave here tonight and never speak of this place again.”

“He is in no condition to go anywhere tonight, no thanks to you,” Adashino said.

Haku inhaled sharply, anger rifling through him. “I would not have had to resort to such measures if this mushishi had the decency to leave when I first told him—”

Daisuke suddenly ran up behind Haku and snatched the flute from his grasp. The boy didn’t stop running until he was safely behind Ginko, then without warning snapped the flute in two.

The exhale that left Haku was a faint gasp. His face flushed in fear. “Dai-daisuke. Wha-what have you done?”

Daisuke grabbed onto Ginko and hid behind him, which was quite the leap of faith, Ginko thought, considering he could barely stand on his own as he was. The boy quietly slipped the broken pieces of the flute into Ginko's hand.

Ginko looked down at the broken flute, running the pads of his fingers across the length, looking at the intricate mess of fossilized veins running through it. 

Haku flashed a panicked look at Ginko. “Help me,” he begged Ginko. A dull edge of hysteria was in his voice.

The air left Ginko’s body in a rush once the real recognition struck—Haku no longer had the means to control the sanekui.

“I can’t,” Ginko said. 

The sanekui would be coming for him.

“But you can,” Haku insisted. "You knew how to stop them before."

“This time is different.”

Ginko shot a sidelong glance over to Adashino, whose eyes grew fixated on Haku. Daisuke held onto Ginko’s sleeve, hiding behind him. The air hardened, thick and tense as if something was closing in on them. Darkness breezed in layers and even the very stars above them seemed to wither into shadow as the sanekui neared. The weight of the night was so deep and heavy, even the beetles and crickets stopped chirping. The silence was deafening. Dew glistened in the darkest corners, breathing life into the far corners of the night.

And Haku fled.

.

.

.

A drowned body had been pulled from the ocean and dragged onto shore at daybreak.

Adashino had been called to help, but there was nothing that could be done. It had been Haku. The circumstances around the drowning had been strange. Adashino lived in a fishermen's village. He was not unfamiliar with drowning accidents, but in Haku’s case there had been no water in his lungs. Haku appeared to have asphyxiated on his own breath.

That morning the skies burned with a reddish glow. A humid haze smeared light from the dawn that made the sun appear to be dripping blood from the sky. 

“A heavy rain is coming,” observed a seafarer from the shore. “There will be no crossing these seas today.”

Adashino sighed. He wanted to go home. More importantly he needed to get Ginko out of here, though their situation could be worse. Ginko was recovering fine, and Daisuke was keeping a watch over him now back at his cottage. 

“We’ll try sailing out tomorrow, doctor,” the seafarer informed him. “Sorry about this. If there’s anything you need while you’re here, you ask us.”

“Thanks.”

“And doctor?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for coming out here.”

“Sorry there wasn’t anything more I could do,” Adashino said. The air was humid, saturated with deep rolling echoes of thunder. Cold rain landed on his skin.

By the time Adashino checked in on Daisuke and Ginko, the rain was falling steadier. Raindrops rhythmically dropped over the roof. His clothes were damp, feet washed clean from any sand and grit, and rainwater was dripping down his face when he stepped inside.

“Doctor Adashino!” Daisuke greeted brightly when he arrived. It was a much warmer greeting compared to when they first met. “Ginko is awake.”

Seeing Adashino standing there dripping with rain seemed to bring a smile to Ginko's face.

Adashino scowled.

Ginko adopted an innocent expression on his face and pretended not to notice.

Daisuke brought Adashino a dry cloth. He ruffled the towel through his hair and wiped dry his monocle. 

“You’re up early,” Adashino grumbled.

“So are you,” Ginko remarked.

Adashino knelt beside him and checked the pulse in his wrist, as he had routinely done while Ginko had slept through the night. “Are you in pain?” he asked.

“What makes you ask?”

“Your pulse is faster than normal.”

Ginko moved to sit upright. There was less of a struggle now then there had been, but Adashino still noted the undisguised pain in his eyes. “I’m fine.”

It was a lie.

Adashino had some herbs and tonic he could mix to help with the pain later.

Ginko leaned forward and placed his elbows over his knees, wincing as he got himself settled. “When’s the last you slept?”

Adashino shrugged. He hadn't last night and the night before he had felt too restless.

"Daisuke tells me some locals needed your help earlier.”

“They found Haku.”

Ginko drew a deeper breath than he should have because he doubled over coughing then. 

Adashino stepped away, not wanting to have this conversation now. “How about some tea?”

Daisuke moved to stand beside Adashino then. “I can make you some if you’d like.”

“Sounds good,” Adashino nodded. “I’ll help.” 

While Daisuke busied himself boiling loose tea leaves in water, Adashino mixed hot water into another dish, whisking roots and bark together. He let the mixture soak and steep in vinegar while Daisuke poured hot water into three separate cups. 

Adashino stopped him from pouring the third cup and added in his own tincture till the cup was half-full. He then nodded for Daisuke to pour the remaining tea over that. Curious, Daisuke leaned over and sniffed the tea. He wrinkled his nose at it. “What is that?”

“Something to ease the pain.”

“I thought Ginko said he wasn’t in pain.”

“He did,” Adashino said. “But he’s also remarkably stubborn.”

Daisuke brought his tea into the main room while Adashino carried the rest. Without a word, he handed Ginko the cup meant for him. 

Ginko arched an eyebrow and pursed his lips after taking a sip.

“Drink it,” Adashino told him.

Ginko took another sip and grimaced.

Daisuke knelt beside them and drank his tea silence, but his eyes shifted around his home, taking in the misplaced sights. The silk threads still caught into the handloom. The closed-off area leading into the room where his parents remained. The light coming through the rain-speckled windows outside. 

“Daisuke,” Ginko said. “I know of a way to bring your parents around.”

The boy’s eyes widened.

“But I need you to understand what that means,” Ginko said. “They may not be the same as you might have always remembered. Not all of their memories may be retained.”

“You can do that?” Adashino questioned, skeptical.

Ginko remained silent, and Adashino understood why Ginko hesitated even now to answer. He was still uncertain about whether or not he even should.

“I can do it,” Ginko said. 

Daisuke bounded forward on his heels, face alight with wonder.

“I need you to bring me some sake from Haku’s place,” Ginko told Daisuke.

“The sake that Inei makes for him, right? The sake that contains the light?”

Realization set over Ginko. "You can see it."

Daisuke nodded.

“That’s kouki .”

“I’ll get you some.” Daisuke was already putting on his sandals. “I’ll be back.”

After the boy left and the front door slid shut behind him, Adashino turned to Ginko. “You sure about this?”

Ginko padded his coat for his cigarettes. He held one unlit between his teeth. “Just this once.”

.

.

.

It was while Daisuke was away that Adashino finally informed Ginko: “Haku drowned. They found his body in the sea.”

“What took him out there I wonder.”

“You don’t think mushi did that to him?”

Ginko shook his head and considered the circumstances leading up to his death. Haku had left a wreckage behind in his wake. There were those in the village who had their souls completely wasted away by the sanekui. Others appeared to only be partially affected for reasons Ginko could only subjectify. Perhaps conditions in their lives made them more vulnerable than others, made them exposed to the sanekui in a way that Haku had failed to protect them. The villagers who worked around the salt harvesters’ storage house, for instance.

He knew then—should have known all along. That storage house was an opening where mushi flowed. There was no light vein that flowed through this remote beachside town. That Ginko would have been able to detect. This was something more dangerous—an unbalance though it seemed contained. Perhaps balance would be restored as time went on now that the sanekui could no longer be manipulated to carry out Haku's warped intentions.

“I believe his soul was devoured by those mushi,” Ginko said. “It was in retaliation for what Haku did to them. They were only trying to survive. Haku was a threat to them."

“And what about you and this kouki ?” Adashino questioned. “How will this be any different?”

Ginko removed the cigarette from his mouth. “In some ways, it's not much different.”

When Daisuke returned, he carried with him multiple bottles containing kouki. Even though he was dripping with rainwater, he trekked through his own home with sand-caked sandals. “I wasn’t sure how much you needed,” he said.

“It's fine,” Ginko said. He drank what remained of the medicine Adashino gave him and rose to his feet.

The room in the back of the cottage where his parents remained was dark. Dust particles were visible from the grey overcast light filtering through the rain-streaked window.

While Ginko set up what he needed to do the ritual, Adashino observed him working from a distance. “Can I stay to watch this?”

“If you’d like,” Ginko said, but then turned to Daisuke. “You may want to leave the room.”

The boy seemed taken aback. “Why me?”

“Because I don’t know if this will work.”

Daisuke nodded. “I trust you.”

Ginko wasn’t sure that was the kind of pressure he needed right now, but he shook his head and allowed Daisuke to remain. He poured the kouki into a metal basin, soaked a wick in it and lit it with a flame. An evanescent luminosity grew from the basin and stood stagnant in the air. The light filtered into a brazen mist and the natural light that filtered into the room seemed to decay around the airborne kouki. When kouki replaced a soul that had been devoured, it did so in strange and unnatural ways, filling voids that had once been full. This cycle of death and life and life and death was constant. It was natural law. Fauna and flora were no exception. People were no exception.

Daisuke’s mother drew in a breath. It was drawn out as if it was the last breath she had taken across days and weeks and left behind years. She was breathing, and when she did, wisps of kouki emptied from her mouth before she breathed the kouki in again. Her eyes blinked and turned toward them, gaze falling over her son.

Daisuke tried to run to her, but Adashino was quick to react and held the boy back fast. The kouki shifted over his father next and settled over his slouched body. He blinked a blank look from his eyes as his gaze fell over his wife.

Daisuke's mother looked first to Ginko, then to Adashino. Turned behind her to see her husband. Then her gaze settled over Daisuke once more. Like a shadow that whispered in idolized agony, she asked:

“Who are you?”

.

.

.

Unlike his mother, Daisuke’s father recovered with his memory intact. He neither thanked Ginko nor embraced his son, and he regarded his wife with a coldness that Daisuke went on to later say was not unfamiliar.

Later that afternoon, Daisuke’s mother sat at her silk handloom. The mechanisms were unfamiliar to her; the silk threads seemed foreign in her fingers, but she seemed to remember enough to rethread the broken threads with new silk. She comforted Daisuke when he approached her with a sense of security that only a mother could provide, and when Daisuke looked up into her gaze, there was a warmth he had not received in over seven years.

Still, Ginko was left wondering if he had done the right thing.

After some time the rain eased up, and Ginko and Adashino left the family alone.

These were moments between a family which outsiders had no place to be. No right to intervene or bear witness.

As they walked down the slate-paved path together leading away from the small cottage, Adashino picked up a broken seashell, frowned at it, and tossed it aside. They walked along the coast together in silence and without purpose. Adashino picked up another seashell. This time it was whole. An abalone shell.

“Look at this one,” Adashino said, showing it to Ginko. “The kids back home call them sea ears.”

“Sea ears?”

“Yeah.” Adashino displayed the shell over his own ear. “See? Ear.”

Ginko laughed tiredly.

Adashino’s lips curved into a strangely proud grin like he was happy to have been able to make Ginko laugh. His eyes were fixed on the sand beneath their feet. It was no longer the sugar-golden sand it had been from yesterday. Now the sand was syrupy as dark crystalline honey, cold and gritty. The air was suffused with the smell and taste of salt, misting from the crashing waves. 

“You seem better,” Adashino said.

“I think that tea you gave me helped,” Ginko said. He pressed his lips together at the thought of the bitter aftertaste it left. 

“Good.”

Ginko’s focus shifted toward the salt harvester’s storage house. The sand terrace was further down the coastline. 

Adashino followed his line of vision and once he saw what had Ginko’s attention, his hand scrubbed over his face. “Absolutely not, Ginko. You’re not going back down there.”

“I won’t,” he said. “But I think I’ll send Tanyuu a message about it. There’s an unbalance still out here. One I can’t fix. The Minai clan can better investigate this. Kumado and his people are...” Ginko struggled to find the right words.

“You told me about them,” Adashino remembered. 

“His people are better equipped than I am at handling the anomaly that’s happening out there.”

“Not the words I would’ve chosen.”

Ginko placed a cigarette between his lips. A mushi floated past them. It buoyed gently in the air. Another one soon followed it, following it higher overhead. Walking along the coastline was enough of a strain on his lungs. He kneaded the back of his hand over his chest and cleared his throat. Getting a light off his cigarette now was out of the question.

“Here,” Adashino said, motioning for Ginko to hand over the cigarette. “Is it the mushi? Want them gone?”

“It’s fine,” Ginko said, waving his hand over his face at another one that buoyed between them, but he handed over the cigarette regardless.

Adashino shook his head and threw him a sidelong look. “Just this once,” he said as he lit the cigarette between his lips. He inhaled and breathed out. The mushi dispersed around them. Adashino held the lit cigarette out in front of him, examining it from a distance as if studying its composition. He held it between his fingers and kept his palm turned toward the oceanfront away from Ginko. Embers and ash fell away, and unbeknownst to Adashino, so did the mushi.

Ginko blinked.

“What I’m doing here is strictly as a doctor,” Adashino said. White smoke drifted from the palm of his hand. The air was warm and damp around them and perfect for mushi tobacco to be left smouldering. 

“Thanks anyway.”

Adashino huffed and kept walking.

The wind whipped their hair and seafoam wreathed around the soles of their feet. They walked beside one another in silence for some time until Ginko thought to ask him, “When will you be leaving?”

“By tomorrow, I hope.”

A flick of light burned brighter in his palm as the cigarette burned down. “You?”

“I should leave soon,” Ginko said, voice barely audible over the choppy crash of waves.

Adashino covered a yawn and shook his head. He heaved a wordless sigh and rolled his eyes, turning away. “You could wait another night,” he suggested. “Leave with me in the morning. It’s only a day or two across the water before we’d be back at my place.”

Ginko hummed thoughtfully, and Adashino slid his eyes over to him, waiting in the thin stillness that rested between them.  His eyes shifted toward the sky and ran along the edges of the dense, bruise-colored clouds, overhung with the salty humidity of the sea. The cigarette burned out. 

Adashino knew Ginko was already settled on the decision to leave now.

.

.

.

Arrangements were being made to give Haku a proper burial, Ginko learned.

Inei had informed them of this when he and Adashino had stopped by the noodle shop for a hot meal. Adashino had insisted he eat something before he went, and when he offered to buy, Ginko agreed.

“There is talk, mushishi, that you actually helped to cure Daisuke’s parents,” Inei boasted proudly as if taking credit for something he wanted. “Well done!”

Ginko stirred the watercress in the broth, watching it wither in the steam. He and Adashino settled at a table on the far end of the shop, but Inei invited himself now, sitting between them. “And how lucky for you that you ran into your doctor-friend during your stay here,” Inei patted Ginko on the back and winked at Adashino. “You should have seen him yesterday, Doctor,” Inei watched Ginko now, rather bemused at the two of them. “Was quite downtrodden that you left him all alone while you were out last night."

Adashino snickered, somewhat surprised by that. 

Ginko shook his head, and his shoulder sagged in a slight half-bow over his bowl of noodles. He slurped up ribbons, ignoring them both.

After some time passed, Ginko lifted his eyes again. “Inei. Can I ask you something?”

Inei slapped his hands over his knees and leaned forward, ready to hear it.

There was a long pause.

“There is a special batch of sake that you brewed only for Haku and his men,” Ginko finally said. “How long have you been making it?”

There was an old heaviness that fell over him. A bone-deep weight. “For as long as I can remember,” Inei replied solemnly.

Ginko straightened and drew a breath. “Since before this soul-wasting disease afflicted the people here in this town, or after?”

An intense and remorseful focus shrouded Inei’s face. There was a certain hollow quality to his eyes, a twist to his mouth that Ginko could not identify. “I'm afraid I cannot remember precisely now at my old age.”

Ginko felt a curl of horror in his stomach. 

Mushi had been being eradicated here for years by Haku's hand and Inei knew of it. He even understood the reasons behind why. Inei had always known the truth behind this affliction that villagers had come to know as the soul-wasting disease. If he hadn’t, he would not have provided kouki to Haku and his people for as long as he had. It was the reason why he and his wife now lived this far away from town. 

“I see,” Ginko said.

“Forgive me, mushishi, but there are things you have come to understand here today that may not agree with you,” Inei said. There was a burden in his voice that left him quiet and consumed. A heavy silence fell over the table. “Some days they still do not agree with me. If you two will excuse me now,” Inei said, leaning back and rising to his feet now. “It was a pleasure meeting you both. I wish you well on your travels wherever that may lead you.”

A breeze whispered into the shop, carrying with it the never-ending sulfury and briny scent of the ocean air.

.

.

.

“The least you could have done is drop me a line,” Adashino grumbled the day Ginko showed up at his doorstep.

Five months had passed since Ginko and Adashino had last seen one another. 

Ginko held his head at an angle, leaning one arm against the porch banister. His bangs brushed against his eyes. “Good to see you too.”

There was a basket of sun-warmed plums sitting on his front step. Ginko reached for one. 

“Oh, and yes. Please,” Adashino said, motioning between Ginko and the fruit basket with one hand. His voice was laced with tedium at the predictability of it, but the underlying gesture was warm and inviting. “Help yourself.”

Ginko tossed the plum in his hand. It was heavy for its size and firm. He bit into it and smiled. “I brought you something.”

Adashino wasn’t quite paying attention when he said it. His back was turned. He was dusting his hands with a strip of damp cotton that smelled faintly of freshwater, herbs and dried tea leaves.

The deck flooring was different than how Ginko remembered. It was laid with new wood. Bamboo or cypress that had been carbonized, maybe. The boards were caramelized in an amber sheen as if the wood had been warmed over to release the natural sugars within and tempered to harden those sugars overtop. The wood was cool and clean underfoot despite the mellow autumn sun glossing across it.

“New floors?” Ginko asked, sitting cross-legged on the porch. He kept his feet off the soil, which had been baked under the sun turning it into dust.

Adashino dropped his arms down at his sides and laid the cotton strip over the deck railing. “Wood needed replacing,” he explained. The door leading into his home was left open, welcoming and inviting to go in if they chose. “It happens living this close to the ocean. You came at a good time. Any sooner and there would be none of this you-sitting-on-doorstep eating those plums.”

Ginko smiled and shook his head, saying nothing.

“How have you been?” Adashino asked.

“Better than the last you saw me.”

“I hoped as much.”

Ginko handed him a flute.

Adashino recognized it immediately and took it.

“I shouldn’t be giving you something like this, but I trust you," Ginko told him. "Something for your collection."

Adashino’s fingers were dry and soft when they brushed against Ginko’s own—touch delicate like one would expect a doctor's hands to be. Adashino cradled the flute and his eyes ran over the length of it. He pressed his other hand against his jaw, deep in fascination. The smile that crossed his lips was soft and enigmatic. He flicked his fingers over the keys and poised a thumb over each unplayed note.

A breeze stirred. 

Adashino dropped next to him, face alight. “How did you repair it?”

“Someone out there was up to the job,” Ginko said. He considered his next words. “Think of it as repayment from last time.”

“Pfft. You don’t owe me,” Adashino told him, his tone mildly indignant. “As for everyone else back at that village…” a sourness settled over his features. “...never did get paid in full for that visit.”

Ginko searched Adashino’s face, expecting to find some hint of disdain or resentment in it, but he saw none of that. 

Adashino inhaled, relaxing. “Have you been back?” he asked on the exhale.

Ginko held an unlit cigarette between his fingers and shook his head. “No.”

Adashino studied him, searching his face and Ginko held the gaze, allowing Adashino to scrutinize him. 

“I went to see Tanyuu after what happened,” Ginko told him. He took another plum and cupped it gingerly in his palm. “I assume she spoke to Kumado about it because I received a message from her about his visit out there after I left. Everything seems fine enough."

Adashino fixed him a resolute look. “What about Daisuke. You hear from him?”

“Sometimes.”

“Same,” Adashino said.

Ginko raised an eyebrow.

“He sent me a message,” Adashino said. “A thank you,” he explained, leaning closer now, and eyes fixed on a point in the distance. “And a little money.”

Ginko dropped the uneaten plum into his other palm and saw it with clarity for what it was. It was the totality of him knowing how far beyond he had gone to help Daisuke—and far he would be willing to go. He sighed and frowned, still unsure what to make of it. 

Adashino looked at him with some mild concern but didn’t ask what was on his mind. Maybe he already knew Ginko didn’t want to talk about what happened.

“Hey.”

Ginko was bracing for Adashino to ask him more about the kouki and sanekui then. But the question he got instead caught him by surprise.

“You hungry?”

Ginko shook his head. “I’m fine,” he said, even though he was.

Adashino rolled his eyes. “You should eat something other than all this fruit.”

Ginko was about to refuse—didn’t want Adashino to think he only ever came around to get a few good meals out of him—but his traitorous stomach rumbled right at that moment.

Adashino snorted like he was amused to be proven right on this. “Come on,” he said, waving him to come closer. “I’ll make us something to eat.” As he moved inside, he turned to look back at Ginko, who still remained outside. There was a strange and surreal moment that passed between them. Adashino stopped in his tracks and waited on the other side of the door. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Ginko breathed. "I'm fine."

“You seem tired,” Adashino said.

“A little,” Ginko admitted, taking a step closer. Overhead in the distance, seabirds floated, riding wind currents out to sea before soaring back toward land for another go. He turned his head towards the sky.

“Well if you need a place to rest, you could stay here as long as you need.”

Ginko paused and brought his gaze down to meet his. 

“Erhm. What I mean is...,” and Adashino spoke indifferently now, but the quiet hesitance of his voice made what he was saying clear. “...you could if you wanted.”

You know I can’t.

Ginko bit back a smile and followed him inside.