Child of the White Ink

"Who was she?"

Geki sighed, immersed in his own thoughts under the light of the afternoon.
It was a warm day at the end of the winter. In barely a month, spring would begin in Kyendi, although in that area where the dense jungle and high mountains let only a few rays of light through it meant that it would be a little less cold at night and the creatures would awake from hibernation.

He sighed again.
"Who was she...?"

Two nights ago Geki found it difficult to sleep. The moon was high, so it must have been late at night when a silvery ray of light touched his little snout. He woke up in resignation with the intention of walking a little around the temple gardens that are now part of his home. Since his early childhood Geki had passed from the hands of his father to the shelter of the monks, sleeping in a simple room with a bed made of straw and protected from the cold with old blankets. His father had not abandoned him, he was guiding him toward his destiny. This is the same temple where he spent most of his life learning the art of ink, of writing, the art of the sword, meditation and, not least, discipline. As soon as his son Geki was born, Kanji was surprised to find out that the little boy had been born with white ink markings, probably from the legacy of his mother or even his grandparents. White ink is a sign of spiritual purity, so he hopefully brought him to the temple to be tested by his former mentors.

Geki does not remember any of it, he was too young, but according to the monk who is most fond of him, when Kanji introduced him in the middle of the night to the superior monk, in front of the entire order, an incredible amount of small lesser spirits of light began to fill the inner courtyard, like specks of white light swaying gently. Any other nin who did not have the sensitivity and training that most of those who were present had might have thought that they were the particles of light that some white-souled Elnin was emanating, but the only sounds heard there were those of wonder. This was a land where they lived alongside the mystical, but these spirits were no doubt being drawn to the little Geki. The superior monk, however, was not surprised: it was common knowledge that the lesser spirits often played around with the offspring of other species, and the abnormal number that night could be due to the fact that no baby Elnin had visited the temple in many years.

Everything changed, however, when the wind brought a discreet jingle, which was repeated at a marked pace, following a melody. Then even little Geki's attention was drawn away from the spirits of light. Everyone but him knew that it was the melody played in an ancient dance, the same one performed in that same temple to communicate with the wise harvest spirits. It is said that depending on the Elnin, the spirits listen to you to a greater or lesser extent, bless the earth or not, whisper the future of the fields to you or not. There are some scrolls where it is told that in ancient times this dance was taught to royal Elnin or to heralds, since it was believed that a greater amount of mana would allow their hearts to reach and please the harvest spirits to get their blessing; but it was not true. No matter how high the rank of the Elnin or how perfect his dance, they were not indicators of success.

In time, less and less Elnin got to please the spirits, until finally they stopped trying. Teaching the dance took years and years of preparation and effort, but even if the steps and timing were perfect, it was not always successful.

Finally, not knowing how to choose the right Elnin, the monks stopped trying. From time to time, at any of the temples in Kyendi, kittoms from the villages arrived at their gates; they were brought by their parents with the hope that their children would be suitable to devote their lives to being the messengers of the gods. Then the monks would evaluate the aspirant. The trials could last until puberty, although the less suitable are unable to endure the first few hours. One usually begins with spiritual affinity, checking if the little one is liked by a lesser spirit. This test could last for days, where the father and a monk would go into the woods with the child in their arms in the hope that some spirit would come and play with him. Sometimes they would leave the baby inside a circle of fairies, and they would move away so as not to disturb a possible encounter of the little one with the spirits. Some parents stayed to watch in case the encounter was brief and there was not enough evidence, but this action proved that the chances of an encounter were reduced. Other parents would go away, and return to the place to find that their child was missing, or that it was too late. For this very reason, fewer and fewer children were being brought to the temple, and this tradition was soon forgotten. If any kittom were ever born with an evident affinity with the spirits, no one remembered about the dance, not even the name of it, and the little one was trained for other purposes.

No one remembered except the monks, who continued to take care of the temples and to pass on to the next generations all the ancestral teachings.

But Kanji... His father had grown up there, and all the phenomena that occurred when his son set foot in the sacred temple told him that Geki should remain there and learn the ways of a messenger of the gods.

Occasionally, Geki would hear this jingle, sometimes louder, sometimes softer... With more impetus, with rage, with excitement. Two nights ago the jingle sounded playful. Geki went out into the courtyard, every step he took resounded to the sound of the bell, as if the instrument was waiting for Geki's every step to tinkle. And that's when he saw it: a shadow made of light watching him from the edge of the jungle, waving her... tails? It had more than one? Geki started walking towards her, absorbed in the smooth, hypnotic movement of these. They were elegant, ethereal, and definitely not of this world.

Suddenly, the shadow faded into the forest before he arrived. Unable to believe he had lost her, though now more scared, he left the temple grounds to follow the creature. The jungles of Kyendi were dense, very dense. With each step you could feel the wet moss that could make you slip, and the deeper you went into it, the more the dampness suffocated you. Hardly any moonlight entered the dense vegetation, and soon Geki found himself uncertain of where he was going. He could not even hear the sound of the waterfalls falling behind the temple, and that meant he had gone too far. Once he heard them again he would know how to return, but in the meantime he would have to trust that his march was in the right direction. Fortunately he returned to the temple without any problems. He sat down on the cold stone floor illuminated by the moon and sighed. Who was she? And why did she seem like the most beautiful being he had ever seen...