When the mystics read my fortune after I was born, they'd said I was born too strong.
"A dragon under the tenth moon," they'd whispered to my mother. "Born under Bull and Serpent parents. It will be her destruction, too powerful to be contained."
My father didn't believe in the old fortune telling, and said being born on the tenth month within a dragon year meant only I would be a cold baby, being born on the edge of winter.
Still, my mother wouldn't take the risk. To soften my strength, they gave me the softest name she could think of: Sakura, the word for cherry blossom.
"There's nothing strong about cherry blossoms," my mother said. "They're soft, pretty, and highly sought after by painters and poets as visions of loveliness in the spring. Sakura is an auspicious name. Your spring will be glorious."
I missed her after she died. I missed her wisdom, and her eternal patience, which I often tried to emulated, and always felt I lacked. She was softer than I was, which I always sought to be.
On a morning a month after my seventeenth year, I was praying at the small altar that sat on an old fishing crate near the front door of our home. The altar itself was an old family heirloom, passed down from generations, and occasionally added to with auspicious ornaments that had belonged to those that had passed on. It had a proper wooden base, carved with the names of spirits he prayed to often, and painted red with gold beads here and there. There was a mirror on the inside, believed to reflect our soul, to reveal the deepest desires to ancestors and spirits.
On it sat one of my mother's combs, a small plate for incense, and a basket of flowers I often collected on my way home. This morning, they were a bit dried out from being there overnight.
I prayed to the gods for as much fish as my father could catch that week, and hopefully plenty of lobster or crabs to warrant many more silver tsukas. I had a plan, and I needed every coin I could negotiate if I was going to pull it off.
The neighboring village, a two-day journey from home, was having an Inspection Day soon. There were several openings, as no less than seven of their girls and two of their boys had been married, either as concubines or spouses. Their doju was now near empty.
I'd heard the rumor from a traveller who had arrived late at the market the afternoon before, and purchased the last of some baby squid from my stall.
"You should head that way," he told me. He had purchased some freshly cooked rice from another stall, and had wanted the little squids raw to add to his meal. He used his own eating sticks from his pocket to scoop the mixture into his mouth and chew. With his cheeks full, he spoke to me, a rice grain sitting on his lower lip. "A girl like you would be snapped up in a heartbeat. There aren't enough girls in that doju now."
This seemed like flattery for me, but still, I was drawn in. "Not enough girls?" I asked. "How so?"
"There are five left," he said. "And eighteen boys. The other girls in the village had already married, or they are too young, still babies."
He continued to eat in front of my stall, leaving crumbs on his cloak and I asked him for details, like how to get to the village, and what were the guards like. Did I need to bribe them?
He waved me off. "Just show up," he said. "They won't turn you down. That is until I tell people about their ordeal. Some parents may send their daughters over soon."
I wasn't so sure. It was dark in the shade of the stall, with the grass woven roof above my head. Did he not see my green eyes? Did he not notice my thin arms and face? Maybe he didn't see at all.
Still, the prospect of another doju in need of girls was an opportunity I couldn't ignore. "Did you tell anyone else about this?" I asked, making my voice light like a sparrow's, hoping to lure him into complying.
The man sucked at his own lips, squid ink staining the corner of his mouth and his teeth. "For a crab, or some shrimp, I'll keep the news to myself for three days," he said. "After the first Inspection Day. If you can make it to this one, you'll be ahead of the line."
I gave him three crabs and the last of a half of a large tuna fish, what would have cost a couple of silver tsukas at least. I bugged him again for details, but he had none to give, only the promise that he'd hold off telling anyone else for three days.
That meant I had two days to walk to the village. My father would be home with fish this morning, but I considered the journey, and thought I'd be able to make it if I didn't sleep the first night. Maybe I'd get lucky and a traveller with a carriage would allow me to ride for a couple of coins.
As I sat at the altar that morning, I prayed for lots of fish that day. I prayed for beauty. I always prayed for my mother's eternal happiness in the afterlife. I prayed that this doju would take me in, and change my life. I promised to be a good daughter, and to ensure my father would be happy, and may never have to fish again.
I waited in silence, my head bent, staring at my thighs as I thought of what I wanted.
A small, gentle blue flash of light distracted me from my thoughts. I picked up my head.
For a small moment, my reflection within the altar mirror had changed. Overlaid on my face, a blue outline of a human stared back at me.
Was that... mother?
Her eyes. Her mouth. The way her hair was combed back and in a bun on her head. It looked just like her.
I held my breath, staring hard. "Mother?" I called.
I blinked and the image was gone.
My heart stilled. I blinked again, leaning in and stared into the mirror.
At some point during my studies, I'd heard about altars being gateways, and that they were the strongest point to talk to ancestors beyond. Sometimes people reported hearing whispers from parents and grandparents long dead, sending comfort and advice for those seeking wisdom.
Hearing...not seeing.
I would have dismissed it as a simple slip of mind, if it wasn't for the blueness of the light. The glow. Hazy. Flowing. Like water.
I inspected the mirror, and checked on the light coming in from a small window behind me. I saw no evidence of a trick.
Still, the image never returned, as much as I secretly wished it to happen. I thought of my mother. Maybe it was a good sign.
I could only hope it was.
I left the altar and moved on to put on my shoes. Near the door was the prettiest robe I could put together, packaged and ready for the journey ahead. It was my mother's, and had originally been one her mother bought for her, although it had been old fashioned when I brought it out from storage. I traded a seamstress some very fine tuna in exchange for the work of mending and fitting. The result was a stunning green robe with cranes and willow trees, while still an old style, the length going to just below my knees, with some dark breeches, I thought the colors would distract from the shorter length.
It would have to do.
I smoothed the package, ensuring it was covered carefully so it wouldn't get dirty on the journey. I placed it in my travel bag. With it, I carried my own wood comb, and some white clay I'd saved to use as makeup. They said too much clay on your face would eat your skin, but a single day and a light dusting would be enough to even out the pale color of my cheeks, and remove the dark circles under my eyes.
If I made it into the doju, I'd never again have to use clay.
I could do nothing about my green eyes. I told myself I would cast my eyes down toward the floor, trying to appear humble as much as possible, and hoped no one thought me as too weak and delicate to be among their flowers, merely polite and respectful.
I hurried out the door, into the gentle breeze of the morning, the constant sound of ocean for once welcoming to me. This could be my last day in the village. I didn't dare jinx myself by saying goodbye too soon. I only stopped to admire the winding paths of the small village. Our house sat a little higher on a hill, overlooking the neighbors, the village and the docks along the beach.
For me, Market Day was a lot of hard work: bringing fresh seawater up from the ocean to keep particularly rare fish as fresh as possible until they were purchased, stacking crates and bringing in ice, sorting the good fish from the bad, loading the crates of fish onto the cart, escorting the mare up the hill from the docks, parking the mare at the start of the street and walking the fish to the stall. Once the hard work was done came the selling, organizing bids and negotiating prices. I'd become good at this. My mother was kind and would give in a little early, but I could always get a few more tsukas if I worked the system a little, and held out for the higher price.
My father would help me unload the fish from the boat, but from there, he would return home, and rest for the day, before returning to the boat to mend it, and to carry nets to be repaired back to the house. I'd prepared a stew for him to eat that should last a few days, and there was plenty of dried fish and rice.
There was also a note in my room, if he came looking for me, explaining what I was doing. He would understand. If I failed, I'd return while he was away, and would be on time for the next fish sale. If I was accepted, he'd have just enough income to hire a boy from the village to train to sell his fish. It was considered a great honor to a family for a girl to be accepted to a doju. He wouldn't have to worry about my future.
That morning after seeing my mother in the mirror, I went on with my chores, with my mind on getting everything completed as quickly as possible. I busied myself more to pass the time while waiting for my father's ship to arrive, and counting down the hours until I could take off to the next village.
I followed the wisteria covered pathways toward the sea. The old mare behind me pulled a cart filled with various sized buckets. The buckets rattled and the hooves beat at the dry dirt, and the birds overhead sang louder to drown out the noise. I sang with them, mimicking their tunes. Hope filled me with every note passing my lips.
The sea was calm today. A pond developed after the tide went out to sea, and it was easier to get to from the dirt road.
I went to the pond, stopping the mare and giving her a bit of carrot, thanking her for her patience. I collected buckets from the back of the cart, bringing them with me to the edge of the water. I knelt in the sand, finding it easier to load all the buckets at once, and then take them two at a time back to the cart.
I knelt, looking into the small pond. There were tiny fish that had been caught in the tide, and remained, for the moment safe, within the pond. They were clear, except for a delicate line of black around their frames, that made them look more like a drawing. My father had called them glass fish.
"Not worth eating," he'd said. "Too small and tasteless."
Occasionally the poor would collect them to add to their rice, or to eat raw right from the sea. Any extra energy was better than nothing.
I dipped my hands into the smooth water, waving my fingers around. The tiny fish swam this way and that, avoiding my hands. I enjoyed how the water was already warming from the sun. The ocean nearby with gently rolling waves had me in a sort of trance as I stared into the water, enjoying the smoothness, and daydreaming about life within a doju.
A blue light sparked from my finger tips and surrounded my hands as they were cupped, holding onto some water. It was the same faint, hazy color I'd seen before in the mirror. It masked my skin like a delicate sheet of silk, yet clear enough that I could still see my hands.
Dazzled by it, I bent forward, hovering over the water, keeping my hands still. I hadn't experienced much magic in my life, but I knew it when I saw it. It hadn't killed me yet, so I was drawn to it like a moth to light.
My mother's face appeared over my hands. Her delicate oval face wavered with the gentle ripple of the water. The tiny clear fish swam back and forth within her.
Her lips moved. She was saying something, but I couldn't hear it.
Stunned, I remained still. I was afraid to blink and she'd be gone again. I studied her lips.
A whisper came to me from the water.
"Drink," her image said.
That was all.
Her eyes, while now blue, stared at me with the same intent as when I was a child, and she had ordered me to clean my room, or wash my hair.
I remained frozen where I was, afraid to look away and she'd disappear. Drink the water? Why? Was it safe?
But how could I not? Here she was, looking at me, and telling me to do so. I wanted to ask her questions. I wanted to hug her. The desire to do what she asked of me was too strong to ignore. I wanted to please her.
I lifted my hands, taking up the small collection of water.
A couple of glass fish had been caught up as I lifted. They, too, glowed with a blue light from within, being part of the water.
Was I to drink them, too?
Once I lifted my hands, my body moved on it's own. I couldn't stop myself, even if I wanted.
My mouth opened, and I swallowed the water, along with the glowing fish. I felt little of their movements as I swallowed.
I expected the saltiness of the ocean, but it was like tasting spring air, clear and cool and fresh.
I swallowed as much as I could, and when I thought I'd taken in all of the water from my hands, more seemed to appear and spill from my palms. I swallowed, over and over again. My hands seemed to refill themselves with the same delicate water, endless and continuing to glow.
I needed to breathe, and I tried to pull my hands away from my mouth.
I couldn't. My hands were stiff, like stone. My mouth was kept open. I swallowed again and again.
My lungs started to fill with water. At first, I struggled, trying to breathe in air over my drinking.
I coughed, spitting out some water, but the flow continued from my hands, into my mouth. I tried to cry out but was drowning.
A bird cried overhead. It was a sharp call, long and screeching. More joined him, clicking and sharp notes. Louder and louder overhead, they called.
I wasn't sure why, but through the water, I tried to make a bird call, mimicking the notes. My vocal cords vibrated against the influx of water. I was drowning and couldn't figure out what else to do.
The moment my vocal cords made noise, the water stopped and I could finally pull my hands away from my face. I fell back on the sand, covering my face and sucked down air again and again, swallowing back the last of the delicate water still in my mouth. I cleared my throat, and found myself to be just fine. My lungs felt light and full of spring air.
When my breathing slowed after my panic, I sat up again, looking around. The pond was still, and clear as before. The fish swam inside.
The birds overhead continued their ongoing song.
Did it really happen? Had I just imagined it?
I looked into the water again, and inside appeared a small blue porcelain cup. Some of the small fish had been trapped inside, swimming in an endless circle.
I reached in, taking the cup, holding it in my palms. This time, I didn't drink, but continued to look into the water.
In some deep feeling in my heart, I knew the cup was for me, only I didn't know what it was for.
When I stood, my wet hands tilted the cup, and I thought for sure I'd spill some.
While the cup tilted and the water went to the edge, the water never spilled. Testing it, I held it upside down. Some invisible barrier stopped it. The fish continued to swim, slightly altering course when I held the cup upside down but never stopped.
I didn't know enough about magic to understand any of it. I looked at my buckets, and knew I couldn't draw upon the pond for water. I also couldn't just stand here and wonder all day long. I felt fine, and somewhat more energized, almost light as a feather, so the magic hadn't harmed me.
I wondered the value of such a cup. Perhaps this was a stroke of luck. Selling it would more than pay for a carriage to take me to the next village, along with a new robe and makeup, and perhaps some beauty magic to help me win approval at the doju.
I put the cup inside one of the smaller buckets, and put it aside. I'd fill the buckets at the shore, and then hurry on to town. I had no time to pre-negotiate prices today. I needed to see someone who knew magic and could tell me what this was.
As I walked, though, I was slow, and I thought it was the soggy sand at my feet making it more difficult for me to move. I had energy, but no matter how I pressed my body to hurry along, I flowed at a steady pace.
When I looked behind me, I saw a trail of my footprints in the sand, and every step created a small pool of water, and within, more fish.
I stopped, standing still, looking into the small pools my feet had made, dazzled and unsure if I should move again.
I was creating water, and life, with every step.
I couldn't go to the village.
I was cursed.