Ertrinken
Prologue
Each night, someone sang near the ocean.
Daisuke Fujiwara listened to the sound. The voice floated along the sand and to his private estate, where he sat, very still, as if not to mar it. The laurel trees swayed outside and made the paper screen in front of him shiver. He watched the shadows move like dancers, in time to the singing, and his heart swelled. It is time, he thought. Enough listening. I must find the source.
Fujiwara gathered his kimono and left the estate. The moon shone above him like a pale marble, and the trees cast dappled, silver patterns along the ground. Fujiwara glided through them, barely making a sound, and only the ferns rustled. He reached the sand and stopped. He'd seen her.
Like an ethereal goddess, she sat, perched on the sea rocks with her hair hanging from her head in a cascade of black curls. She was fully naked, wet skin the color of milk, hands not even wrinkled from the water. Some sort of kami, he thought.
She sang words he couldn't understand, but he didn't mind. Her voice stirred something in his soul only a lover could do. His legs moved without his command and stepped closer, close enough where she could notice him if she wanted to. She did. She ceased her song, and the woman inclined her moon face to him. When she peered behind the damp fringe of her hair, Fujiwara's heart skipped a beat.
"Good evening," he greeted. His words did not come out like a minister of the court. I am but a foolish man, he thought bitterly.
The woman did not speak, but merely smiled and waved, her fingers spreading like peonies in bloom. Fujiwara spoke. "I have come to see you," he said, stronger now. "I've heard your song for weeks now and have inquired of your presence. It is my honor to finally meet you."
"Have you come to woo me?" she asked. She tipped her head to the side, and her foreign accent frosted her words like sugar. Fujiwara was taken aback, but smiled in return.
"If you will allow me to woo you," he said.
"Come closer." She beckoned him. Fujiwara felt the pull like the tide to the moon. Sea foam trickled about his shoes, but he didn't notice and ascended the rocks. Barnacles and sea weed clung to the barrier, slick with ocean. The woman extended a hand toward him. That was when Fujiwara saw her fully.
Her appearance left nothing to be desired. Her soft, smooth skin glowed in the moonlight like the very essence of the celestial object was inside her, and her dark eyes were dewy and inquisitive. Her arms were strong and supple, her waist small, and her hair thick and long. But then Fujiwara saw her legs. Somehow, the sight of them jerked a primal instinct inside him, something that sensed there was something strange in front of him. They were too smooth, her legs. Too perfect. Every woman had dimples, marks, freckles, but on her there was nothing. The only thing of point was the sea matter tangled about her slender ankles.
He shifted his eyes up to her. She seemed to notice his revelation and pinched her lips closed.
That was all he needed to know. "Ningyo," he hissed.
Her eyes flashed to the ferocity of a shark and she bared her teeth. Fujiwara reeled back at the sight, tipped over the rock, and crashed among the barnacles. An unearthly whistle greeted him from above, and the next thing he knew was that his head plunged into the sea. A sharp crack was all it took to knock him out.
A body showed up on the beach in court council clothing days later. The woman was never found.
Daisuke Fujiwara listened to the sound. The voice floated along the sand and to his private estate, where he sat, very still, as if not to mar it. The laurel trees swayed outside and made the paper screen in front of him shiver. He watched the shadows move like dancers, in time to the singing, and his heart swelled. It is time, he thought. Enough listening. I must find the source.
Fujiwara gathered his kimono and left the estate. The moon shone above him like a pale marble, and the trees cast dappled, silver patterns along the ground. Fujiwara glided through them, barely making a sound, and only the ferns rustled. He reached the sand and stopped. He'd seen her.
Like an ethereal goddess, she sat, perched on the sea rocks with her hair hanging from her head in a cascade of black curls. She was fully naked, wet skin the color of milk, hands not even wrinkled from the water. Some sort of kami, he thought.
She sang words he couldn't understand, but he didn't mind. Her voice stirred something in his soul only a lover could do. His legs moved without his command and stepped closer, close enough where she could notice him if she wanted to. She did. She ceased her song, and the woman inclined her moon face to him. When she peered behind the damp fringe of her hair, Fujiwara's heart skipped a beat.
"Good evening," he greeted. His words did not come out like a minister of the court. I am but a foolish man, he thought bitterly.
The woman did not speak, but merely smiled and waved, her fingers spreading like peonies in bloom. Fujiwara spoke. "I have come to see you," he said, stronger now. "I've heard your song for weeks now and have inquired of your presence. It is my honor to finally meet you."
"Have you come to woo me?" she asked. She tipped her head to the side, and her foreign accent frosted her words like sugar. Fujiwara was taken aback, but smiled in return.
"If you will allow me to woo you," he said.
"Come closer." She beckoned him. Fujiwara felt the pull like the tide to the moon. Sea foam trickled about his shoes, but he didn't notice and ascended the rocks. Barnacles and sea weed clung to the barrier, slick with ocean. The woman extended a hand toward him. That was when Fujiwara saw her fully.
Her appearance left nothing to be desired. Her soft, smooth skin glowed in the moonlight like the very essence of the celestial object was inside her, and her dark eyes were dewy and inquisitive. Her arms were strong and supple, her waist small, and her hair thick and long. But then Fujiwara saw her legs. Somehow, the sight of them jerked a primal instinct inside him, something that sensed there was something strange in front of him. They were too smooth, her legs. Too perfect. Every woman had dimples, marks, freckles, but on her there was nothing. The only thing of point was the sea matter tangled about her slender ankles.
He shifted his eyes up to her. She seemed to notice his revelation and pinched her lips closed.
That was all he needed to know. "Ningyo," he hissed.
Her eyes flashed to the ferocity of a shark and she bared her teeth. Fujiwara reeled back at the sight, tipped over the rock, and crashed among the barnacles. An unearthly whistle greeted him from above, and the next thing he knew was that his head plunged into the sea. A sharp crack was all it took to knock him out.
A body showed up on the beach in court council clothing days later. The woman was never found.