As Hashi fell from the destroyed bridge, the wind ripped the air from his lungs. During his descent he tumbled head over foot; through sheer luck, he impacted the water with his feet pointed straight down. The impact buckled his knees and twisted one of his ankles, knocking the wind out of him. Pressing his way back to the surface, he gulped cold air. The new pack that Fumiko had given him was airtight, and served as a floatation device while he checked himself for injuries.
Besides the sprained ankle, he was almost certain he’d broken some ribs; the pressure of the cold water around him made it difficult to breath. Each rattling gulp of air shot lances of pain through his chest and back, and the dull aches spreading across his body told him that he had sustained additional internal injuries. The most pressing issue he faced, however, was the icy water surrounding him. If he didn’t get out of this water he would freeze within minutes.
The canyon walls rose on either side of him like two grim monoliths. The walls were worn smooth by centuries of water rushing across them and offered no purchase. The water was running faster the further it carried him, and before long he was distracted by the loudest roaring he’d ever heard.
As the current carried him forward with increasing speed, he realized he was heading towards the falls. When the cliff faces gave way on either side of him to reveal the enormity of the dropoff, his eyes bulged: four massive rivers, each larger than the next, crashed together into a communal mixing bowl of thunderous proportions. Hashi remained motionless, clinging to the engraved staff and his floating pack. There was no reason to panic for there was no solution within his power. He resigned himself to his fate; as he tumbled over the lip of the falls, the last thing he saw before closing his eyes was a huge building balanced on a jet of water.
Hashi opened his eyes when he was plucked from the air by his belt. He could not see what manner of creature held him, save for glimpses of alabaster skin. Hanging limply inside his clothing, his composure failed, and he retched into the crashing water below.
The creature carrying the young hero swooped low and banked into the falls. Hashi thought that it was a Genju come to torment him before his death, yet at the last moment they swung behind the curtain of water to a hidden cave mouth behind. The one that carried Hashi deposited him into the custody of two similar creatures. He was relieved to see that they were not kami, although he was not sure exactly what they were.
Each of the creatures was tall and slender; though they were wingless, they sailed through the air with an inhuman grace that did not diminish as they walked on solid earth. Their loose-fitting robes, gilt with golden thread, matched the color of their supple, pale skin. Their faces were smooth and flawless. They bore similar features to humans, absent any variety of texture; their hair, lashes and fingernails were all composed of the same white matter, as if they’d been carved from the cold white stone of the moon.
The two guards in front of Hashi, bearing immense mirror-shields buffed to perfect reflection, addressed the one that had dropped him at the mouth of the cave. Hashi could not understand their language, which was communicated in rapid singsong tones. After several minutes of musical conversation, the two guards dragged Hashi to a cell and locked the bars.
The cell was dank from the wet air and moisture that leaked from the very stone. Hashi’s body ached in every conceivable spot from the force of his impact with the water, and his broken ribs were searing with pain. Each of his misadventures seemed to lead him only to greater anguish: he had survived the fall to a certain, quick death, only to waste away in delirious agony in the moonfolk’s prison.
As his injuries surpassed his threshold of tolerance, Hashi fell into a troubled sleep. His body was sweating and fevered, and the very dendrites in his brain swelled as a malignant magic took hold, born of the other half of his pain. The emotional distress tormenting the young man’s sleep had called Mannichi, who brought his tidings of the future, good or bad. As the Kami settled into Hashi’s mind, he awoke someplace else entirely…
He was standing in an empty plain; the grains waved in the wind, though there was no sensation of hot or cold. His vision was distorted and fuzzy, as if he viewed the seen through the sheer lengths of silk. The plain extended as far as he could see, limitless duplication to the edge of the horizon. There were no roads, no signs or dwellings, a complete lack of civilization, human or otherwise.
"Hello there, young man." Though the voice came from behind him, Hashi was not afraid, for it was Ishita’s voice. He turned to face his mentor.
Though the spirit in front of him was definitely Ishita, it was something else as well. His form was even less substantial than that of the wispy plane around him, yet the ghost of the priest was the anchor that held it together. His clothing had vanished, yet his body retained a formal dignity as if he were dressed in the height of ceremonial garb. Ishita’s hair floated around his head in a halo of blazing strands, and his arms and legs were elongated and graceful.
"You have done well, my son," Ishita said. "But you must resist the fever; you must survive." He began to fade away, his form dissipating in wisps of silver smoke.
"Ishita!" Hashi yelled, "wait!" But the spirit-priest was already gone.
Hashi woke in the dank reality of the moonfolk’s cell, bathed in icy sweat. The smell of rot and mildew hung in the air as he attempted to settle comfortable against the bumpy stone floor, but each movement brought another stab of pain into his travel-weary body. He hung on to consciousness by strong will alone, but could not maintain the effort for long.
When he regained awareness, he was in the same half-world where he’d seen Ishita, not fully substantial. Rather than the plain where had first appeared, he was standing on the surface of a lake. Ripples circled away from his position, though the body of water held him. Sensing a presence despite the silence, he turned.
Baiku and Hashi’s mother contemplated him from a distance of several yards. Their forms bore little resemblance to their earthly appearances, but they were unmistakably his family. Baiku’s ethereal body, shaped like a pyramid turned on its point, pulsed with slow flashes of light. Hashi’s mother was coiled in a thick, braided ponytail that encircled her unclothed body in loops of bright filaments.
"Your father would be proud," Hashi’s mother said, her voice like a silver chime. "You must resist the fever," Baiku said. "You must survive."
When Hashi awoke for the second time, his brow burned with the sickness raging through his brain. He reached to the cave’s wall and the slimy water running it down it to rub some on his neck and shoulders, but it did not quench the heat. His temple pulsed as the magic wreaked havoc inside him, and he collapsed against the wall of the cave.
He found himself standing in the ruins of Niigata, staring at the remains of the burnt-out temple as through a swath of white gauze. He was surround by glowing, anthropomorphic forms, each recognizable as a member of his village, yet distinctly changed in some fundamental way. The light that each emitted to a varying degree grew brighter as the entire seen pulsed; the spirit voices joined together to recite their refrain:
"You must resist the fever! You must survive!"
Hashi jolted upright and loosed a wild cry. The dream had faded before he had regained consciousness, but he retained the persistent thought that he must continue. As tried to recall what had tempered his uneasy sleep, the kami that had entered his mind unseen dissolved away into the stone.
The cry that Hashi had emitted upon waking had caused a commotion in the passage beyond his cell. A thin but limber old man with a curling gray mustache turned the corner and strode up to the gate. His indigo, floor-length robe billowed around him, the gold ribbons woven into the material glinting dully in the scarce light.
"Release this man at once," he said brusquely to the alabaster guardian with the polished mirror-shield. "This is him, the one I saw across the veil." When the cell door clanked open, the wizened old mage extended his hand to Hashi.
"My name is Hisoka; if you wish to live, come with me."