The Sacrifice

The Sacrifice

  By Sophie Nicolas

  Copyright 2016 Sophie Nicolas

   

 

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  Table of Contents

  Short Story

  About the author

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  THE SACRIFICE

  The village is bathed in a golden glow from the setting sun that hovers sleepily over the glistening sea. The crickets chirp peacefully and the summer breeze that rolls through the village carries the salty smell of the ocean. The streets of the small village are deserted. The crooked handmade mud huts are dark and silent, the windows are hastily secured with planks of rotting wood. In the village square a girl sits on a rickety wooden chair, bound tightly by thick ropes that imprison her. She is not the first to be held captive by The Chair. There are gaping chunks from the legs and back that tell a story of a desperate struggle, or a violent attack. The girl seems calm and quiet and wears a mask of serene indifference, but her heart gallops painfully fast. She is not the first child sacrifice. The skies transform into a blend of rich purple and dark indigo, the first evening stars awaken and twinkle innocently. The sun, heavy with exhaustion, sinks lower, lower and is swallowed by the ocean. Silence. Not a sound is heard, even the crickets have ceased their chirping. The whole world holds its breath and the girl cannot keep her hands from trembling. The Hyakki are coming.

  ***

  Long before you and I came to exist, there lived a small fishing town on the border of a very new Japan. The people who lived there were fishermen and their families, street merchants and a few respected elders who later became the village councils. These people were a kind folk and did not know the land they migrated to was cursed. The Hyakki is an old Japanese legend that is still told to this day, a fantastical myth that no one believes to be true. It is a bedtime story to scare naughty children, it is a tale whispered around a roaring campfire and it is a fable that Japan knows well. However, all legends ring with truths, and although many versions have emerged over the decades, I will tell you the original version of a girl named Aiko.

  To spare you your curiosity I will tell you what you are dying to know. The Hyakki is the yearly parade of 100 demons that drift through the streets of the Fishing Town by the Sea. The demons would tear through the town in a terrible rage, destroying the huts of those who did not bless their house by nightfall, and would leave a rotten stench over the town that would make the villagers fall ill for days. The villagers were heavy with despair as they had nowhere else to go and since fishes were plentiful, they wanted to make peace with the spirits. They appealed to the Gods for answers and concluded that a sacrifice must be made. Since this was a fishing village, their best and most respectful offer was to present 1000 fishes for the yearly parade. Many families went hungry that year, for every fisherman must give away half his catching’s. As the Hyakki tore through the town again, they were devastated to see the fish ripped apart in a bloody rage. The spirits had wrote “Children” in blood on an abandoned mud hut. The Hyakki had given them the answer, and that is where our story begins.

  ***

  Many years later, the fishing town by the sea had grown to be a bustling settlement with an increasing population. Aiko, the daughter of a fisherman, was a small, fiery girl of twelve with hair as black as ink and eyes as hard as steel. She had long gotten used to the mysterious disappearance of children who lived in her village. The elders implored parents to keep a close eye on their little ones, as “misunderstood children often ran away.” It was only when Aiko’s brother disappeared that she became suspicious and noticed the council members’ lack of interest in finding him. She knew her older brother would never dishonour her family or, Aiko thought miserably, abandon her. It had been almost year since Ichiro disappeared. Aiko missed the way he used to ruffle her hair and carry her on his shoulders, she missed the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled and the way he always smelled like ocean. Her late mother used to say she was like fire; uncontrollable with a mind of her own. And her brother was like water; strong and steady, always sure of his path. One night, when her father had passed out from drinking too much saké (something he did a lot these days) she dressed in her best kimono and snuck out. She intended to present herself to the council once more and to appeal for a search team to find her brother. Her father, who had angrily given up on Ichiro already, forbid her to appeal again, for running away is a great dishonour. The silence of the deserted streets was unnerving and she winced as her wooden sandals clacked loudly on the cobblestone pavement. When she had arrived at the village council, she paused to announce herself through the paper screen door. But as she heard the muted murmuring of the late night council meeting, she found herself leaning closer to the door, her heart thumping with anticipation. Her mother always said curiosity was her greatest sin. She heard an old gravelly voice: “The Ichiro boy that we sacrificed last year seemed to keep the Hyakki happy, but it is time again to choose a new child if we wish to honour our agreement, so who will it be? Let us vote.” Aiko gasped loudly, slapping her hand to her mouth in horror. She heard a scraping of chairs and pounding footsteps, suddenly the screen door slid open with a loud snap and she beheld many angry eyes, before rough hands seized her and a wet cloth covered her face. And then all went dark.

  The Hyakki are coming. She sees them running, galloping, crawling towards her. Some are ugly creatures with long limbs and powerful jaws, some are beautiful goddesses shrouded in white mist. Aiko struggles against the ropes in a fruitless attempt, there is nothing she can do. The spirits are upon her and all she can do is scream and scream until she is consumed by a white mist.

  ***

  She wakes up to her brother’s face hovering over her, but he looks different. His face used to be rounded, he had sparkly eyes and a mischievous grin. The past year had changed him. His cheeks are now gaunt, his face a sickly grey, his eyes are troubled, alien. He looked as if he had aged 10 years instead of one. But he was still her brother and Aiko could not stop crying and holding on to him like he was a life raft in the churning sea. Ichiro explained that they were in the forest, a two day walk to the village, but all who tried to escape were punished terribly. All the sacrificed children were slaves, forced to build shrine temples for the Hyakki and cater to their needs and was given very little food. Aiko, who had a sharp mind, thought of a plan to free her brother and all the children. After a long day of sweaty labour, she gathered the children and told them her strategy, they all agreed and excitedly hurried to position. That night Aiko approached the main Hyakki temple and stood in front of the 100 demons that leered and snapped at her aggressively. She bowed low and sung a song to distract them, for she had a voice as sweet as an angels sigh. While the spirits listened, entranced by her voice, the children were running for their lives back to the village to gather their families and leave town. It was planned that Aiko would sing them to sleep and then escape herself, however it became obvious her voice did not provoke sleep, but requests for her to stay singing all night long so they could dance gleefully. Aiko knew she could never get away now, so she bravely told the spirits that she would stay and sing for them for the rest of her life, if they agreed to leave the village in peace. The Hyakki eagerly agreed and gave her a big temple to live in an
d an abundance of food whenever she pleased, given she sings for them every night. Ichiro, distraught with his sister’s sacrifice, made sure the villagers knew of her bravery. A statue of Aiko was built in the town square and poems were composed of her courage. The Hyakki honoured Aiko’s agreement long after she passed away and never terrorized the village again. Years later, as legend turned to myth and her statue began to crumble, the town grew to be the largest fishing town in Kyoto. Sometimes, in the dead of the night, you can still hear the ghost of little Aiko’s voice singing eerily through the ageless trees.

 

 

  About the author

  Sophie Nicolas is currently a second year student studying creative writing. She is a journalist and aspiring writer. Sophie is passionate about Japanese folk lore, and the myths and legends surrounding them. She is currently learning how to speak Japanese and to further improve her understanding of the Japanese culture.

 

 

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