Chapter Seventy-Seven: The Significance of the Wagtail Priestess Visiting the Island of Sinners
THE next day, Lord Hiaki and I, accompanied by guards, attended the island’s ceremony. I purified my body under a waterfall on holy ground before sunrise and changed into my formal priestess attire. The sky was still dark that early in the morning and twinkled with stars. Below, red glowing prayer lanterns hung from the eaves of the village houses.
The residents were dressed in white robes, the color a stark contrast against the darkness. They silently formed a line and, with lowered heads, advanced in a solemn march, almost like a trail of disciplined ants. I led the procession, scattering sekka. Instead of fresh flowers, I used papercut petals that the residents had prepared.
Our soundless parade walked into the vast forest north of the village toward the highest ground on the island, where the mausoleum dedicated to their ancestors was located.
I was struggling to navigate the unfamiliar mountain path in the gloom. Lord Hiaki followed close behind, and noticing my difficulties, he quietly drew level with me. “Hey, Sai,” he whispered, “how about I carry you the rest of the way?”
I staggered on, replying, “Thank you for your kind offer, but this is my duty. I will go as far as I can with my own feet.”
He flashed me a wry smile. “If you say so. Well, do your best then so you don’t cause congestion at the back of the line.” He ducked in front of me—he was going to take the lead and show me the best places to step.
“Thank you,” I whispered in a low voice. He responded with a big toothy grin before offering me his hand. It was large and sturdy, just as one would expect of a military officer. I took it, and he gave me a squeeze—his grip was firm and warm.
Whenever I came across an obstacle, he hoisted me up effortlessly. He was a very reliable companion. Perhaps I should have accepted his offer to carry me to begin with, since that would have saved him the trouble. But the trek was a sacred prayer ritual, so unless I was truly stuck, I wanted to walk on my own.
My hand was in Lord Hiaki’s hold, yet for some reason, it was the emperor’s face that appeared in my mind. Oh… Thinking back, the emperor has never touched me like this. I mean, we did have physical contact when he saved me as my house burned down and when he’s steadied me on occasion. But…he never voluntarily initiates contact with me otherwise.
Lord Yukinari treated me with utmost respect as a priestess and nothing more. Lord Raiya sometimes ruffled my hair or patted my shoulders, but my impression was that he saw himself as a mentor or father to me.
I’d had many opportunities to be alone with Emperor Haruka. Whenever he summoned me to serve as his nightly companion, my hands pressed against his skin. Yet the emperor never touched me unless absolutely necessary—not even the barest brush of a fingertip.
A hushed voice shook me out of my thoughts. “…Sai. Sai.” Lord Hiaki anchored one foot on a boulder as he held out his other hand to me. “We’re nearly there. You can do this.”
“Thank you.” I grasped his hand firmly and scaled the rocky terrain with his help. I raised my face.
The forest had given way to a boundless morning sky that was growing brighter and bluer by the minute. I saw a large clearing before me, the mausoleum right in the middle of the open area. We seemed to have arrived on time—before daybreak.
Once again, I expressed my gratitude to Lord Hiaki for his assistance: “I cannot thank you enough.”
One after another, the residents climbed onto the stony plaza behind us and wordlessly began to ready the memorial service portion of the Irei Festival.
Since the mausoleum was situated on elevated ground, I could survey the native forest and steep cliffs of the island below us, as well as the vast surrounding ocean. The farthest patch of eastern sky was already awash with light. The sun would rise at any moment.
I passed the metaphorical baton to the residents. The island chief, his wife, and a handful of representatives stood in front of the mausoleum and recited scripture as the chilly sea wind lashed at them. Their litany was, naturally, different from the Buddhist sutras of my past life, their words uniquely threaded together to pay tribute to the souls of their ancestors.
I had learned the scripture the previous night, and I recited it with them. Lord Hiaki stared at me from his position beside me. For a moment, I thought that perhaps I had messed up somehow, yet after combing through my recollection once more, I was certain that I had memorized every word perfectly. I’ll ask him about it later.
Putting such thoughts aside, I strewed sekka, cleansing the impurities from their prayer to their ancestors. White paper petals fluttered in the sea breeze like butterflies taking flight. The sun crested the horizon.
When we were done chanting, we picked up the paper bags that had been placed at the mausoleum as offerings and distributed them among ourselves. And that was the end—the ceremony had concluded in the blink of an eye.