The Goddess Chronicle Read online

  ‘Because you are the impure one.’

  As soon as Mikura-sama spoke, my father and the other men in the party stood up and planted themselves between me and Kamikuu.

  ‘The impure one?’ Her pronouncement stunned me. I hung my head, my whole body trembling. It wasn’t long, though, before I felt someone’s eyes upon me. When I looked up, Kamikuu was staring at me, her eyes filled with heart-wrenching pity. I drew back instinctively – she had never looked at me like that before. She turned to leave.

  ‘Kamikuu, wait!’

  I started to run after her but my mother and aunt grabbed my arms and held me back. My mother glared at me angrily. I knew, from the way everyone was behaving and because my face was tight with tears, that something was amiss, but no one paid me the slightest attention. I wanted to know what was going on. I didn’t care that I’d already been shooed away. I slipped into the shadows cast by one of our outbuildings and kept a furtive eye on the events. Mikura-sama was leaving, leading Kamikuu away. All the islanders stood and watched as the two disappeared into the melting darkness. Nightfall on our island was as forlorn as a tiny ship alone on the great sea. My mother was watching from the kitchen. Beside myself with worry, I called to her over and over.

  ‘Where are they going? Mother! Where is Mikura-sama taking Kamikuu? When will she come home?’

  ‘For a walk,’ Mother answered evasively. ‘She’ll be back before long.’

  It was the deep of night. Of course they hadn’t gone for a walk. They couldn’t have got far – I could catch up to them if I tried. But when I started down the path, Mother took hold of me and would not let me go.

  ‘You can’t follow. Mikura-sama will not allow it.’

  But why not? I didn’t understand. I looked up at my mother, hoping she would explain why Kamikuu was allowed to go but I wasn’t. ‘Why? Why can’t I?’

  Mother stamped her foot and refused to let me past her. She also refused to offer any answers to my questions. But her eyes were filled with pity, the same kind of pity I had seen earlier in Kamikuu’s. I could not make sense of it. Why, all of a sudden, were Kamikuu and I being forced apart? And why did it seem so final?

  That was when I noticed all the food that had been left after the banquet. There were platters of goat meat that had not even been touched, along with fresh shellfish and slices of succulent fruit. Instinctively, I reached for some. But Mother gave my hand a sharp slap.

  ‘You must never touch the food that Kamikuu has left. If you do you will be punished by the gods. That girl is to become Mikura-sama’s successor.’

  I stared up into my mother’s face, shocked. I’d always assumed that my mother, Nisera, would become the next Oracle. She was Mikura-sama’s daughter, after all. I knew that our family had served as miko for generations and that a member of my family would one day become Mikura-sama’s successor. But I had thought it would happen far in the future. There was no mistaking what Mother had said, though. Kamikuu was now in training to replace Mikura-sama.

  Mother went to throw away the leftover food. As soon as she was gone I stepped outside and gazed up at the stars. Where was Kamikuu now? What was she doing? Even as I turned these questions over I felt another weighing heavily in the corner of my heart. ‘The impure one’? What did it mean? It didn’t surprise me that I had not been selected to succeed Mikura-sama and become a great Oracle. After all, Kamikuu was older. And she was far better than I at everything. But how could Mikura-sama look at me and know I was impure? What made me impure? These questions nagged at me, and I was in such turmoil I was unable to sleep that night.

  The following morning Kamikuu came home. The sun was already high in the sky, and the temperature, too, had begun to rise. As soon as I saw my sister, I ran out to greet her. The white festival robes she had worn the night before were now lightly soiled, and she looked exhausted. Hadn’t she slept? Her eyes were bloodshot and unfocused. Her feet and calves were covered with nicks and cuts as though she’d run along the coral beach.

  ‘Kamikuu! Where have you been? What happened to your feet?’ I pointed to the cuts but Kamikuu merely shook her head.

  ‘I’m not allowed to say. I’m not supposed to tell anyone where I went or what I did. Mikura-sama said so.’

  I bet she took the path past The Warning, I thought. But had she gone all the way to the northern cape? Had she encountered any of the gods along the way? I could picture Mikura-sama carrying the pinewood torch, leading Kamikuu down the narrow road through the thicket of thorny pandan, their white garments glimmering faintly in the darkness. The vision was enough to make me tremble in fear.

  Whatever Kamikuu had undergone that night made her seem distant – austere, even. I felt timid, uncertain as I looked at her. Mother came and pulled Kamikuu aside. I caught fragments of what she said.

  ‘Didn’t Mikura-sama tell you not to speak to Namima? She’s impure. You will be defiled.’

  Shocked, I turned to them but they had their backs to me and were not even aware that I was there. Tears rolled slowly down my cheeks. I was crouching as I listened, and I watched the teardrops splash onto my bare feet, white from the dust of the sand, and form slender streaks as they slid towards the ground. At that moment, even though I did not understand, I knew I was impure.

  And so it came to pass that sisters who had been the best of friends were forced to follow separate paths. ‘Separate’ is not quite the right word. Our paths were more distinctly different, as if she were to follow the day and I the night; or she the inner road and I the outer; she to traverse the heavens and I the earth. That was the ‘law’ of the island – that was our ‘destiny’. Of course, as a child, I had no way of understanding what it meant.

  The following day Kamikuu gathered up her belongings and left the house. From now on she would live with Mikura-sama in her tiny cottage just beneath the entrance to the Kyoido cape. Because I had always believed Kamikuu and I would be together for ever, it hurt me to see her leave. I stood there and watched her move further and further away. I think she was sad to leave me, too. Whenever she could evade Mikura-sama’s careful watch, she would turn back to me, her eyes full of tears.

  Poor Kamikuu, ‘Child of Gods’. It must have been even more difficult for her than it was for me. She was taken from her parents, from her brothers, from me, and from that day forward she was expected to train as the next Oracle. No longer would we play together on the beaches or run naked through the rain. No longer would we wile away our time collecting flowers and doing all the things children on our island were wont to do. The sweet days of childhood had ended so suddenly.

  It wasn’t long before the island chief gave me a new role to fulfil. My mother and the other women in the village took turns to prepare Kamikuu’s meals. The chief told me that it would fall to me to deliver them to her. Apparently Mikura-sama had made her own preparations while she lived alone. But now, with another under her roof, my mother and others in the village had to prepare and deliver meals made especially for Kamikuu.

  I carried the food to Kamikuu once a day; she divided it into two and ate it in two sittings. We used two baskets for this purpose, both carefully woven in tight plaits from the fronds of the betel palm, both with lids. Each day I carried one of the baskets laden with food and left it in front of Mikura-sama’s cottage. Then I took up the empty basket, which had contained the meal from the previous evening, and carried it home to my mother.

  My duty came with harsh restrictions. I must never lift the lid and look inside the basket. If Kamikuu had left any food in it, I was not to eat it but to carry the basket to the top of the cape on my way home and throw all of the contents over the cliff and into the sea below. Finally, I was never to speak to anyone of these matters. Those were the four rules I was given.

  When I heard about my new assignment I was beside myself with joy. I now had an excuse to see Kamikuu and I would be able to learn more about her new life. What was Mikura-sama teaching her? How was she spending her days? I was bursting wit
h curiosity.

  The next day, as dusk set in, Mother handed me the basket. The weave was so tight, it was impossible to see what was inside. But as I carried it, the smells that wafted up from it were so intoxicatingly delicious I nearly grew dizzy. No doubt it contained a veritable feast. When Mother was preparing the food she had told me I wasn’t allowed to watch so I had gone off to play. But from the way the contents now sloshed in their containers I guessed she had made a sea-turtle broth. Or perhaps sea-snake soup. And there was the smell of grilled fish, and the dried fish the men brought home after their long sea voyages. But even more precious was the handful of steamed rice I imagined to be inside the basket, wrapped neatly in a bamboo leaf.

  Of course I had never tasted anything quite so delicious. I doubted that anyone else on our island would have eaten such delicacies. Far from it. Everyone was always hungry. The island was small and there was a limit to what we could grow. As it was, the island association was hard pressed to make the little we had go round. All it took was a heavy storm that damaged our crops and it wasn’t unusual for some to starve to death. Sometimes a group of men went to sea and never came back because there was nothing for them on the island. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I couldn’t help feeling envious that Kamikuu was allowed to eat such wonderful food.

  Once Mother handed the basket to me, I carried it with the utmost care to the little cottage on the edge of the Kyoido grove. The road to Mikura-sama’s house extended upward to the cape and I could hear the sound of the waves. I could also hear the murmur of Mikura-sama offering prayers. And just beneath her voice I heard Kamikuu’s. I pricked up my ears to catch the words they chanted, humming in rhythm with them, not thinking about what I was doing.

  For a thousand years, the northern cape,

  For a hundred years, the southern beach,

  A cord strung across the seas, calms the waves.

  A net stretched across the mountains collects the winds.

  Sanctify your song,

  Rectify my dance.

  Today, this very day,

  May the gods Live for ever.

  ‘Is someone there?’

  When I heard Mikura-sama’s stern voice I shrank back. My grandmother opened the door and stepped outside. Her eyes narrowed into a momentary smile when she caught sight of me. I remembered how she had pronounced me ‘impure’ at the ceremony earlier, yet now she was gazing at me with the affection a grandmother bestows on a beloved grandchild. Relieved, I began to explain, ‘Mikura-sama, the island chief told me I should bring this basket up here to you.’

  As I handed it to her, I peered into the dimly lit cottage. Kamikuu was kneeling stiffly on the wooden floor. She glanced over her shoulder at me and smiled with delight, waving her tiny hand. I smiled, too, and waved back, but Mikura-sama quickly pulled the door shut.

  ‘Namima, thank you for your trouble. When you come tomorrow, leave the basket in front of the door. Here’s the basket from yesterday. Kamikuu didn’t eat all the food so what she left is in here. Go up to the cape and throw the leftovers over the edge. And you mustn’t sneak a bite for yourself. That, you must never, ever do.’

  Basket in hand, I cut my way through the thickets of pandan and banyan. Hardy pemphis shrubs clung to the side of the cape as though climbing to the summit. I was so hungry that I was tempted to open the basket and steal a bite of the leftover food, but Mikura-sama’s stern words rang in my ears. Once I reached the summit, I opened the basket and hurled the contents over the side of the cliff. Gingerly I worked my way to the edge and looked down. The morsels of food floated for a few seconds on the rolling waves, then sank.

  It seemed so wasteful. But my mother and grandmother had given strict instructions. The finest food the island could provide was to be gathered for Kamikuu and what she left was to be thrown away. I had no choice but to obey. And the task I’d been given had allowed me a glimpse of my sister. She had looked well so I was happy. I began to sing as I turned for home.

  Little girls of my age rarely walked alone at night. As I hurried along the southern beach, the cliffs glittered white under the full moon. I could see the bats taking flight from under the droopy branches of the tea trees. Suddenly I was terrified, my eyes darting left and right. Tomorrow I would make this trip again, and the night after that, and after that as well. Would I ever grow used to it? How could I? The night scenes were so frightening.

  The moon shone brightly over the beach, and I saw a person. Someone had come to meet me, perhaps, worried for my safety. I started to run but almost as soon as I did I froze. I didn’t recognise the person: a woman, with long hair flowing down her back, wearing white. She was plump, her skin fair. ‘Mikura-sama,’ I called, but stopped. She was similar to my grandmother, but she was not Mikura-sama. The woman caught sight of me and smiled. With barely two hundred people on the island, how could there be someone I’d never seen before?

  She must be a goddess. Overcome, I felt gooseflesh rise on my arms. My legs would not move. The woman turned and walked into the sea, disappearing into the darkness. I had met a goddess! I had met a goddess who had smiled at me with love. My heart surged with joy. I felt immense gratitude to the island chief and Mikura-sama for assigning to me this task. The goddess did not appear to me again, but my vision of her became my most precious secret. From that moment on I was able to endure the hardship of delivering Kamikuu’s food.

  And so I began the ritual of walking the path to the Kyoido cottage with the basket of food. I went every day without fail. Some days the summer sun beat down mercilessly; on others bitter winds swept in from the north. There were days when I was buffeted by rain and on others there were sand storms. It didn’t matter. I carried the basket to that roughly hewn door and brought away the basket that had been left there. The basket I took was filled with the most delectable food, and the basket I carried away was full of the food Kamikuu had left. No matter how delicious the feast, she seemed to eat hardly any of it. Still, I threw what remained over the edge of the cliff and hurried home. I knew that Mikura-sama was listening: she wanted to hear the food hit the surface of the water, making sure that I had thrown away what Kamikuu had left. I did as I was told, and I never looked inside the basket.

  It seemed that Mikura-sama ate none of the delicacies herself, and I did not understand why. I wanted to ask my mother about it, but I was afraid to. I was ‘impure’. And I was afraid there was some connection between the two.

  A year passed before I caught another glimpse of Kamikuu. On the island we offer prayers on the thirteenth night of the eighth month for the safety of those who voyaged by sea. Mikura-sama conducted the ceremony, but this time, Kamikuu sat beside her before the altar. And she kept her eyes on Mikura-sama, watching carefully as she recited the prayers.

  Heavens . . . we bow before you.

  Seas . . . we bow before you.

  Island . . . for you we pray.

  Heaven-racing sun, revering you,

  Sea-bed creeping sun, shunning you,

  Our men sing the seven songs.

  Our men spell the three verses upon the waves.

  Heavens . . . we bow before you.

  Seas . . . we bow before you.

  Island . . . upon you we rely.

  Finally, at Mikura-sama’s urging Kamikuu stood up. She beat on a large white shell in rhythm with Mikura-sama’s chanting. When I saw my sister I was astonished. She had grown so much taller. Her figure had filled out, and her skin was whiter than anyone’s I had seen on the island, so finely grained it was lustrous. Kamikuu was beautiful.

  I, on the other hand, had hardly changed. I was still dark-skinned and shabby. I was thin and small – no doubt because my diet was poor. On the rare occasions when I caught a small crab, I was delighted. Normal meals consisted of taro root, sago seeds, mugwort, fern fronds and other such greens, small fish, shellfish and seaweed. Plenty of edible plants grew on the island, but it took time to cultivate them. And if we gathered them all at once, they would soon be deplete
d. Mother and I had to go to the beach every morning to collect seaweed, shellfish, minnows and crabs.

  On days when storms prevented us doing that, we didn’t eat. But Kamikuu ate a magnificent feast all by herself, the like of which most people on the island could not even dream. No wonder she was beautiful. The sight of Kamikuu’s rounded body overwhelmed me – I couldn’t speak. We had been so close, yet the distance between us now was vast.

  Mikura-sama’s prayers ended. She set off towards her Kyoido cottage with Kamikuu, who stole a hurried glance in my direction and nodded. I forgot about the gulf between us. All I could think now, from the depth of my heart, was how much I wanted to talk to Kamikuu, to play with her again.

  That evening I took the basket Mother handed to me, as I had done in evenings past. As usual I smelt a delicious aroma rising from it. But this time, I asked Mother, ‘Why is it only Kamikuu who can eat such delicious food?’

  Mother hesitated, then said, ‘Because she is destined to become the next Oracle.’

  ‘But Mikura-sama doesn’t have food like this.’

  ‘Mikura-sama doesn’t need it any more.’

  I had no idea what Mother was talking about.

  ‘But isn’t Mikura-sama still the great miko?’

  Mother smiled. ‘Mikura-sama is preparing the next miko. Her turn is almost over. What if something were to happen to Mikura-sama? Kamikuu must be ready to take over. In this way we can keep up the tradition. The one thing this island cannot allow is the loss of its Oracle.’

  Mother peered inside the large earthenware jar to see how much water we had left. There had been little rain recently and she was worried. I looked inside the jar, too. Barely an inch remained. Soon we would be forbidden to drink it. We would have to save it for Kamikuu.

  ‘Why aren’t you the next great miko, Mother? You’re Mikura-sama’s daughter. Why did she choose Kamikuu?’

  I assailed Mother with one question after another. She continued staring at the water in the jar and did not answer. When I peered into it I saw my face floating alongside hers. I stared hard at my mother’s reflection. Her face was small and dark, exactly like my own.