Page 128 of Yumi and the Nightmare Painter
Therefore it didn’t, couldn’t, account for Yumi spendingcenturiesperfecting her art. Yes, her memories were wiped each day, but something remained. Muscle memory. Skills that sank in deep, infusing her soul, like rum in a cake. Her skill couldn’t be separated from her; she had earned it.
So it was that on the day our story began, something remarkable occurred. Seventeen hundred years of repeating the same day, and something finally snapped. Because Yumi, her skill reaching a crescendo, stacked so well that she pulled a single spiritawayfrom the machine.
This changed everything.
That spirit, grateful for a moment of freedom, yet knowing it would soon be captured again, contacted her. Looking for a way out. At the same time, Liyun—unnerved—knewsomething strange had happened with Yumi. She went hunting that night as a nightmare, stronger than she’d ever been before. And the briefly freed spirit watched her, followed her, until she encountered Painter.
He wasn’t anyone special, at least on paper. Yes, he was of above-average painting skill, but that wasn’t what drew the attention of the spirit. Instead it was the fact that he saved the life of a young boy.
Turns out that was enough; the spirit found in him the soul of a hero. It wasn’t the boasts, the pretending, the superficial actions. It was the fact that when he could have just headed home to relax, he’d instead turned back. To protect the people of Kilahito, even when he didn’t feel like it.
You know the rest. Painter and Yumi linked. And Liyun? Her disquiet grew. She escaped each night, prowling Kilahito, searching for her yoki-hijo. She didn’t know who she was during these times—only that there was a Connection driving her to search for this young woman. She absolutely had tried to kill Yumi when she had found her after the carnival, and she might actually have managed it. This wouldn’t have solved the machine’s problems, as then Liyun would have absorbed all that power and become a danger. But it would have ended Yumi’s problems, technically—by leaving her dead.
You’ll have to forgive Liyun for the near-murder of someone she loved and was sworn to protect. She wasn’t feeling like herself at the time—in fact, she hadn’t felt like herself for seventeen hundred years.
Yumi scrambled throughthe town, frenzied, hunted. Remembering that unyielding coldness from the night when the monster—Liyun—had nearly absorbed her. Yumi felt echoes of that icy death. Like she’d been submerged, sinking far, far, far from the heat and light.
The four scholars, no longer the least bit recognizable, followed her. Nightmares on the prowl, hideous creations from the dreams of people’s deepest torments. Shaped by fears, given substance by theterrible machine. She couldn’t outrun them. She couldn’t paint them, not without tools. Would they respond to stacking? Would she even get a chance to put two stones upon one another before they reached her?
She almost tried. But then she thought of a better way.
Painter’s way.
She ran for the place of ritual, passing right through the fence. The sound of claws on stone chased her farther, to where the scholars had once kept their tent. Chained behind that spot, to give the tent shade, were several trees.
Yumi leaped for the first of them and pulled out the pin holding its chain to the ground. With a cry, she held on tightly to the tree, her eyes squeezed closed. Anticipating the arrival of the nightmares and the feeling of their claws on her skin.
When it didn’t happen, she cracked her eyes and saw four dark shapes on the ground below. Looking up. Having arrived just a fraction too late for the second time in their lives.
Painter found hisfriends in their usual place at Design’s restaurant. He blessed his luck. This would have been a terrible night for them to go out for dumplings instead. He stumbled up to their table, then threw himself to his knees and bowed, his head touching the ground.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Stunned silence.
“I know it’s late for apologies,” he continued. “I realize I hurt you deeply. I…didn’t want to do that. Hurting all of you was thelastthing I wanted. I just couldn’t think, couldn’t process what had happened until it was too late. And I foolishly kept thinking if I could put it off,I would be able to find some way to prevent you from suffering the terrible loss that I felt.”
He continued kneeling, listening to them shuffle, a pair of maipon sticks clinking together as a bowl on the table shifted.
“I know you have no reason to believe me ever again,” he said. “You’re fully justified in ignoring me. But I’mtryingto do better, and so I’m going to tell you the absolute truth. These last weeks, I’ve been interacting with nightmares. They have souls. They’re people somehow, from long ago.
“I thought things were going well, but now… Now we’re in danger. One of them told me, just a few minutes ago, that ahundredof its fellows are coming to Kilahito. To destroy it, like they did to Futinoro. Because of me, and what I know, an army of stable nightmares is on its way to the city right now, and the Dreamwatch won’t listen to me.
“I’ve lied to you in the past. I’ve hurt you. But this isnot a lie. Nightmares will destroy everyone in this city unless we stop them. I’m begging for your help. So I don’t have to face them alone.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, head to the floor, tears dripping to stain the wood.
“Youtalkedto a nightmare,” Akane said.
“Yes,” he whispered.
“And it said an army of other nightmares was coming to destroy Kilahito.”
“From the west,” Painter said. “It sounds ridiculous. But it’s true.”
Tense silence. Though other patrons continued to eat, it was like this one section of the room had been muffled. As if nothing there lived. As if he were still alone.
“Suppose we’d better go with you then,” Tojin said, and stood.
