Death in Dewa

Deep within Yamagata Prefecture, fields of sunflowers passed by the van window. No one was speaking. They were now on the leg of the trip that Riku had requested, but it carried a somber finality with it that the group had not anticipated when they first set out. Riku had never been overly spiritual or religious, but he had requested the pilgrimage passage to the Dewa Sanzan in Tsuruoka. For a millenia and a half, the three Dewa Sanzan had been the site for mountain worshippers from around the world. The Three Sacred Mountains of Dewa were each associated with the different times; Mount Haguro, birth, Mount Gassan, death, and Mount Yudono, rebirth.

Mount Haguro was first. The van parked at the edge of the trailhead and everyone exited. All were dressed in hiking clothes and ready for whatever awaited. The six young people purified themselves, laced their shoes, and began their ascent of the first mountain.

Rest pavilions nestled themselves into the already sloping terrain. Deciduous trees covered in ancient moss lined the stone path. Cedars towered into the sky. Wooden structures with barely legible inscriptions pointed the directions for travelers to walk. The somber procession of friends began their journey. Riku moved with a steady, thoughtfully slow pace. His cane tapped against rock, echoing out into the forest as the only sound beyond the chirping of birds. Kureha took Shiona’s hand as they entered the timeless woods.

A river cut through the path, with a small shine on the opposite side. Behind the shine, an enormous waterfall cascaded down the dark grey mountainside. Up they hiked. The air was damp. Rin let out a small screech of surprise and the friends turned to see multiple Shimmers of pilgrims from ancient times walking past them in silent meditation. Riku’s composure held still this time. The group watched in awe as the ghostly figures drifted by before vanishing as quickly as they’d appeared. As they faded, their centuries-old chants could be heard echoing through the trees.

A five-story pagoda of natural beechwood greeted them. Its brown framing blended into the world around it. The group stopped to pray and admire the intricate detail of the woodwork. Beside it, a tree was wrapped in a shimenawa. Its trunk was wider than two armspans. A small sign labeled the tree as the grandfather tree and stated that it was the oldest tree in the entire forest. Thousands of steps awaited them. Still, they carried on.

At the summit a thatched-roof shrine welcomed them and offered them rest. Sweat ran down Kureha’s chin and down her chest as she sat and watched Riku. He hadn’t spoken a word through the entire hike, merely grunted in the occasional strain of stepping up a steep incline.

After a moment of rest, they returned down the mountain and set off for Mount Gassan and death. Kureha’s pulse pounded in her chest as she wondered if this was her last moment with Riku. Try as she might, she couldn’t force the words into her throat to speak. So they continued towards the mysterious trail.

Snow remained on the ground at Mount Gassan’s start. Instead of towering trees, this mountain pass greeted them with infinite vistas of rolling marshlands that stretched out into the Sea of Japan. Gravel and stone paths eventually gave way to wooden planks elevated on rocks with barrier ropes providing bracing against the chilled gusting winds. Riku remained at the front, silent and cautious as he persevered and pressed forward.

Looking out at the rolling sides of the tremendous ridges, Kureha wondered if the path ever ended, or if she herself would greet death after enough steps. Hours passed and Riku’s methodical cane tapping began to strain.

They reached the peak after a half hour of ridge walking. A single bench greeted them as they looked out at the sun that was pivoting to dusk. The group found itself unable to look at the magnificent scenery. Their eyes were on their friend. His face was blank. Minutes passed with no one uttering a word. Finally, he spoke.

“I don’t think I can do the third hike yet. Can we rest at the shukubo at the base?” he asked.

“Of course,” replied Rin.

The shukubo were small rest spaces for weary pilgrims. Monks tended to them and fed travelers, though Kureha wondered how many monks would be there now. Most importantly, she was grateful they would have at least one more night with Riku. As Shiona sniffed and took her hand, Kureha knew she was not alone in that sentiment.