Page 106 of Yumi and the Nightmare Painter
“Are you sure?”
“I…I guess I’m not. And Design wasn’tthatcertain either. We learned geography in school, but it talked only about Nagadan. There are some other nations out beyond ours, smaller. Around a dozen of them, and they’re always squabbling. I didn’t learn much about them. Beyond those…well, we never actually covered that in classes.”
“What if there’s anendto the shroud?” she said, scooting closer to him, excited. “What if Design is wrong andthisis what’s beyond? You have bamboo in your land, Painter. And rice. Where does rice come from?”
“Plants with four leaves,” he said. “I’ve seen them in fields.”
“Same as ours.”
“But not flying.”
“So the vegetation of our lands is similar,” she said. “You could merely have a…a strain of it that was made by the spirits to live without the heat of the ground.”
“It’s possible, I suppose,” he said. “Maybe we could get some maps in my world? See if maybe those have holes or blank spaces that could hold your land? How bigisTorio?”
She didn’t know, although the fact that she traveled it in a loop—visiting villages all along the way—made him think it was smaller than his nation. However, it all seemed farfetched. Two societies like theirs living side by side for centuries, never discovering one another? But…maybe there was one of those oceans he mentioned in the way? Or some other natural feature?
The possibility comforted her. She closed her eyes and focused on the sound of brush on paper, the occasional tapping as he dipped in the ink jar… She sank down and pushed through the sense of dread at last, entering a state of utter stillness. A nothingness where all time, self, and nature were one.
Then, as if placed theredeliberatelyfrom outside, an idea struck her.
She cracked her eyes, hurled out of her meditative state to find the line of townspeople gone and Painter cleaning up his tools. The entire hour had passed just like that, which wasn’t uncommon when she meditated.
That thought, thatidea, was remarkable.
“I know what to do,” she whispered, then looked at Painter. “I know something we can try!”
“Okay…” he said, frowning.
“We can’t wait for you to get good enough at stacking. I’m sorry, Painter, but it’s true. Your progress is remarkable, but we have to move faster.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’ll show you.” She reached her hand toward his—then, remembering she couldn’t touch him, simply waved instead. She hopped down off the altar onto the spirit of her clogs, then waited impatiently as he tied his on. They soon emerged from the orchard, passing Chaeyung and Hwanji, who jumped to follow. Yumi felt only the smallest stab of guilt at not remaining in the shrine until she was fetched, as was proper.
They passed through the now-familiar town. It was the first time since her childhood training that she’d stayed in one place long enough to learn where everything was. One might have assumed this would make the place feel kind of like home. Yet as Yumi thought about it, the word “home” conjured images of a cluttered little room with a futon, lit by the hion lights outside. It was alien, and yet it was the place where she’d learned what she actually liked. Dramas on the viewer. Clothing that was her own. Noodle soup, light on the salt, chicken broth with a single egg and a pinch of pepper.
Here she was the yoki-hijo. There she wasYumi.
And because of who she was, she felt guilty at that realization. It wasexactlywhat she’d feared would happen. She had grown accustomed to the delights of his world. She did not regret—could not regret—letting herself indulge. But shewouldpay for that indulgence once this was all done and she lost not only Painter, but her home, her friends, and even her newly discovered sense of self.
You cannot let yourself be happy,a part of her warned.Because happiness is far, far too dangerous.
Perhaps that was why she felt such an urgency to finish this before the break became too painful to endure.
As they rounded the steamwell, the air wet and misty from a recenteruption, Yumi was distracted by a farmer fiddling with his flyer—which, like a giant insect with wings outstretched to the sides, buzzed and hovered in front of him, then dropped. The farmer grabbed it before it hit the ground. Then he finally got it moving, soaring up toward the crops above.
Painter walked on past, but she hesitated, bothered. “Painter,” she said, “would you ask Hwanji and Chaeyung if something is wrong with that man’s flyer?”
The two women appeared embarrassed at the question. “It’s nothing, Chosen,” Chaeyung said.
“Chaeyung,” Yumi said through Painter, “you’ve known me for years. You can talk to me. It’s all right.”
They shared a look, then Chaeyung leaned in and spoke softly. “It’s the creations of those scholars,” she hissed. “They don’t work as well, Chosen One.”
Hwanji nodded. “Far be it from us to speak poorly of such honored guests of the town. But something’s wrong with their creations. That’sfact, Chosen.”
The way they talked—there was an eagerness. Not only because of the topic. They seemed excited by the idea of talking to her, now that she’d given them leave. And…why not? They’d been companions for years, yet they didn’t chat. She’d never considered whether that would be painful for them, serving a woman they never truly got to know.
