Rooms, Robes, and Revelations

 And so, down the immense flight of stairs they went. It was an easier descent than it had been a climb. The snow had subsided somewhat, but it felt much, much colder; a damp kind of cold that seemed to intensify with every step. They took a path that Inês didn't remember being there before, though she couldn't very well say that she had memorized the layout of the woods as she had raced the little boy.

Marcel, towering and right, was steadily leading the group like a lighthouse beacon, Debuu hovering by his head; Inês and Lucía were marching in the middle, shivering and holding each other under the boy's suit jacket; finally, Jin was bringing up the rear, turning his head at the dusking void from time to time. Before long, they arrived at an isolated inn engulfed in snow. The wooden lodge was warm, glowing gently from within; nestled in a grove of red pines and snow-covered bamboo, a stone plaque engraved with kanji seemed to indicate its name. Once they got to it, Marcel read: “House of Still Waters.”

“Of course you can read that,” said Jin with an eye roll.

“The team always has at least one member literate in Japanese!” declared Debuu with glee. “We make sure to choose people who truly love Japan, after all.”

A short little old lady was standing right behind the bug. Inês wasn't sure if she had just gotten out, or if she had been right there the whole time; either way, the girl had only noticed her now. She was about as tall as Lucía, which is to say, she wasn't very tall at all.

“Welcome to the House of Still Waters, esteemed guests," declared the innkeeper.

She bowed with a pleasant smile on her face. Marcel immediately bowed back, as if he had practiced for this very moment many times before. Inês and Lucía bowed hesitantly, as did Jin, but the latter did so, so casually that one couldn't really tell if he was bowing or checking whether his shoelaces had come undone.

“Please, come in,” she said.

The group followed her inside. The place was cosy and, as expected, entirely made of wood. They took their shoes off at the genkan and agreed to go to the onsen to relax and warm up before dinner, which would be in about an hour or so. Since the hot springs were mixed (Marcel informed everyone that this is how things were done in the Sengoku era), they decided to go two by two; first the girls, then the boys.

The hot spring was carved into stone; half-sheltered by cedar trees that swayed beneath a quilt of snow, it was ringed by thick, cotton-like mist. The steaming water, bursting from a bamboo pipe, filled a shallow rock basin. All around, the picturesque landscape was filled with a myriad of greens from the moss and vegetation that embraced the grey of the rocks, warm from within, but also brown from the weathered wooden planks, and, ever present, the white of the falling snow. Serene and unbothered, a Buddhist statue watched over the scene.

Marcel wasn't there to teach them about the differences between modern and Sengoku era onsen, so the girls had to learn on their own. They discovered quickly that there were no stalls to wash oneself, just a bucket carved from old hinoki wood for rinsing off. After undressing behind a screen and leaving their clothes on a straw mat, they quickly took care of that so they could step into the inviting warm water. Stopping by the edge, Inês cupped her hands in the searing pool; there was a faint smell of sulfur rising with the steam. She brought the warmth to her shoulders and let it down on her. She took her right foot off the frost-crusted rock and dove it into the bath; the heat took her breath away. Letting herself be submerged for an instant, she floated without a thought. If only for a moment, everything went quiet.

“Nice!”

Lucía wasn't so introspective; she plopped herself right in the middle of the basin, spread eagle. Inês sat up and leaned her head against a mellow bit of moss, smiling. She had always wanted a younger sibling, and having Lucía with her felt like how she had always imagined it.

“How old are you, by the way?” asked Inês.

“I'm thirteen. And you?”

“Thirteen?!" she exclaimed. "I thought you were eleven or twelve! I'm fourteen.”

“Hey, that's not nice!” grumbled Lucía. “I can be very mature when I want.”

Inês let out a laugh. It was the first time since she had ended up in this bewildering world.

“You, mature? I'd like to see that!” she said. “What do you even think is mature? Wearing high heels? Reading Catcher in the Rye?”

“Don't make fun of me!" protested Lucía as she started splashing her with water. "I'm not a dumb kid!”

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry!” Inês capitulated with a laugh.

Lucía smiled reluctantly. She quieted down after a few more vigorous waves and sat next to Inês, water rippling around them. The breath of the space was concurrently inviting and disquieting, arcane and sensual. High above, the twilight was quietly approaching in drapes of periwinkle and indigo.

“You said you speak Portuguese, where are you from?” asked Lucía after a moment of contemplation.

“I'm from Porto, it's a city in the north of Portugal. And you?”

“Mexico City.”

There was a silence. For a moment, they didn't need to talk, they shared the same still thoughts; thoughts of home.

“Do you like it back in Porto? What do you do for fun?”

“I love music," answered Inês. "I take singing and violin lessons.”

“Oh, you should sing something right now!” asked Lucía.

“I don't know that I could.”

“Why?”

Inês paused.

“I sing fado, it's traditional Portuguese music, but in this place we hear each other speak in our own languages, right? So you wouldn't get the proper experience.”

“Oh...”

“But what about you?” asked Inês. “What do you like to do?”

“Well, I'm a dancer.”

“I can see that! That fits you so well!” she exclaimed. “Do you do a specific kind of dance?”

“Hum, yeah…” Lucía hesitated. “It's a traditional Mexican dance. It's called Jarabe Tapatío.”

“That sounds nice. Could you show me later?”

“Perhaps… If you really want. Honestly, I enrolled in those lessons because of my parents. They come from Guadalajara, where the dance originated, and they wanted me to be connected to my roots. I care more about manga and anime, stuff like that, but I love them and they do a lot for me, so I don't want to disappoint them. Maybe that's dumb.”

Inês smiled.

“That's not dumb at all,” she murmured.

Through the steam, their reflections blurred. They remained a little while longer, speaking in silence. When they finally left the water, they found that two yukata had been laid out for them. One was the color of persimmon, the other pearl. They helped each other get dressed, taking care not to tie the apparel the wrong way (Marcel had warned them that dead people wear it right side over). As they left the onsen, Inês felt something tugging at her sleeve. Glancing down, she noticed it was Lucía. She was looking away, and her cheeks were flushed.

“Would you call me Lu?” she asked. “That's what my friends and family call me.”

Inês felt her heart swell. She smiled.

“Let's go tell the boys the bath is clear, Lu.”

Lu looked up, a twinkle in her eye. She nodded in agreement, and off they went.

Three quarters of an hour later, the group was reunited in the dining room. It was a warm little square covered in tatami mats that gave off a soft, muted scent. In the middle, there was an irori, a fire pit used both for cooking and to warm the room. Inês and Lu had been seating there on comfortable zabuton cushions, Debuu by their side, when Jin and Marcel entered, still blushed from their bath. The boys looked dapper in their yukata, eau de Nil and navy, respectively.

“How was it?” asked Lu. “Do you feel like brothers, now?”

“Huh, maybe cousins,” said Jin.

They sat down at the already set low tables. There were lacquered trays, bowls the hue of early plum blossoms, and tiny dishes that seemed to have been arranged by ancient forest spirits with too much time on their hands. A single red maple leaf rested atop the pickled daïkon.

“Are we sure this hasn't been tempered with?” asked Jin, prodding a clear jelly that shimmered like ice.

“Only with elegance,” declared Debuu, who sat seiza style despite his stubby little limbs.

Circumspect, the four teens started dining. However, for all of the strain the elements had put on Inês—hurt, cold, exhaustion—hunger wasn't one of them. Yet, for a while, the only sound one could hear came from the dishes. The four would look at each other once in a while, not really knowing what to say. Everyone was waiting on Debuu to stop eating and start talking. Inês cleared her throat once. Nothing. A second time. Still nothing.

“Debuu?” she asked after some time. “We would like to know more about this mission you mentioned earlier.”

The beetle scarfed half a bowl of rice down in a single morsel and rocked sluggishly above the fire, a grain of rice stuck to its horn.

“Right. So, here's the deal: you were chosen to become the Shining Hearts Sentai PurePure because of your pure hearts, but before anyone can wield PurePower, they have to face a heart trial; a challenge not of the body, but of the soul.”

“What will that entail, exactly?” asked Marcel.

“That depends on the person, but it usually reflects a repressed wound, or an unresolved fear. Some kind of hidden truth that the potential sentai has tried to forget.”

After a few twists and turns, Debuu finally got the grain of rice off its horn.

Inês tried to gauge the others' reaction to this news. Marcel didn't seem fazed, as if he had expected something of this nature. Lu looked resolved, her hand balled into a fist—though she appeared febrile. Jin, for his part, came across as entirely skeptical, like the idea of souls and anything to do with them didn't sit well with him. Inês wanted to ask more questions, but the black beetle was already dozing off on a paper lantern. It was well and truly night, now.

“So, what do you think?” she asked no one in particular.

“I'm not sure I believe anything it says,” said Jin.

“What choice do we have?” intervened Marcel. “It's not like we have anywhere else to go.”

The innkeeper entered the room as silently as ever, announcing that two bedrooms had been prepared for them; Inês and Lu would share one, and Jin and Marcel would share another.

“You don't snore, do you?” asked Jin.

“I've never had any complaints,” answered Marcel.

They got up, leaving Debuu, now fast asleep, beside the waning embers.

In their little room, two futon, thick, hand-stuffed mattresses with cotton quilts, had already been laid out for Inês and Lu. The only light came from a single oil lamp, warm and flickering. As they got ready for bed, the girls' shadows danced on the paper walls. They could hear the wind outside and every creak the wood carried; there was a haunted poetry to the place. Sliding into bed, the girls didn't say much; they didn't need to, they knew what the other was thinking.

Inês turned to Lu, upset.

“I'm still not sure if I'm dreaming or dead.”

Lu looked at her with kindness. She put her hand on her face. Her eyes were getting heavy. The light had been blown out; the shoji screens glowed pale with moonlight.

“I'm scared too,” she said, her voice tapering into a whisper. “Buenas noches, hermanita… que sueñes bonito. ”

“Boa noite, Lu… tu também. Dorme com os anjos. ”