The Cult Whispers

The cloaked figure disappeared once more into the shadows, scribbling notes hurriedly into a leather-bound ledger. He did not need any more information than this; he had seen more than enough. This strange, mortal girl who walked amongst these gods had power. Her power came not from speech but from something older and far more dangerous. 

He had watched the way her hands had seen the way her hands were illuminated when she had touched hands with the sun goddess. He had heard the young God of Knowledge whisper of prophecy and Shijima no Kami with trembling ink-stained hands. And for the first time in centuries, the War God, silent as a tomb, had moved. He had hesitated in cutting her down and had tolerated her presence. To the cult, this was going to be more than enough proof. 

Without a trace, the cloaked figure returned to the stronghold that belonged to the Cult of the Wordless one. Some whispered concerns that perhaps the God of Knowledge was right, that the was the return of Shijima no Kami. Others whispered that she had to be the Wordless One itself, reborn in the flesh of a mortal and brought to their world. Both parties were right and wrong. 

Though forgotten, the scripts had once read: At one time, Shijima no Kami and the Wordless One were one and the same. An entity representing order and voice, creation and silence. When the world could no longer hold them together as one, the god was split into two separate entities.
Tonight, the Cult reasoned, they would begin their plan of attack on the mortal girl and the gods who followed her.
—
The road to Mizuchi’s temple was treacherous, stretching through fields of brittle grass.
The land should have been verdant with lush greenery, instead it was the skeletal remains of crops that disintegrated on contact. The smell of rust clung faintly to the cold, heavy air. Judging by the temperatures, it was nighttime. Without the moon or the sun, it was impossible to discern what time of day it truly was. 

Shion hugged herself tightly as she walked, feeling the weight of the silence grow heavier with every step. Yahata walked several steps ahead, hand poised on the hilt of his sword as his eyes scanned the area. Shosei meandered behind her, scribbling notes into his scroll, his ink-stained fingers leaving smudges on his face as he occasionally rubbed his cheek in thought. 

Shion felt small between the two gods as they passed through the lifeless land. No. Lifeless wasn’t a good enough descriptor; it was as if someone had stolen the breath from the atmosphere.
They walked in silence for quite some time until Shion was beyond exhaustion. Finally, they took refuge in a small, run down shack. The roof had holes and there was only one futon cushion on the floor but the gods did not need to sleep. Shion’s stomach growled softly and Shosei gave her a sympathetic look as Yahata walked to the doorframe to stand guard. There was not a door available, but at least they had an imposing war god. 

Shion laid back on the futon after Shosei beat the dust out of it. She stared at the bits of sky visible through the caved in roof and found herself tracing words to the ceiling. “I really don’t belong here.” 

To her shock, and mild irritation, Shosei had caught it out of the corner of his eye. He glanced up from his scroll with a wry grin. “It’s too late for that, Shion. You’ve already rewritten half of my pages.” 

She scowled faintly and signed, “Not funny.” But deep down, Shosei’s reassurance brought her an ounce of peace. She closed her eyes softly. 

“That’s debatable,” he chuckled, dipping his quill into ink. She shook her head a bit and her eyes slid shut.
—
Shion hadn’t been asleep for long when the shadows began to move. “Wordless One…reborn,” came a sharp hiss like wind on hollow reeds. Shion’s eyes shot open and she grew tense, getting to her feet quickly. 

Yahata stared out at the tree line. As Shohei and Shion joined him in the doorway, cloaked figures emerged from the trees, whispering as they fanned out, encircling the three. 

“Yahata…” Shosei tried to keep the concern from his voice so as not to scare Shion but the young woman was already shaken. Some of the cloaked individuals dropped to their knees, pressing their foreheads into the cracked dirt and singing praises for the Wordless One. Others raised gnarled blades that had been carved from bone. 

“She has returned to us,” one intoned, voice quivering with devotion. “She is the Destroyer, born to us again.”

“No. The only way to reverse what has happened to this land is to kill her. The silence will devour us all,” another snarled, rushing forward, gnarled blade raised to strike. 

Yahata’s own blade was already drawn from its sheath, his red eyes gleaming with lethal light as he moved with terrifying fluidity and grace. Steel carved arcs of silver in the air and in the blink of an eye, the first attack was cut down. 

“Shion! Stay close,” Shosei barked with rare urgency. “Yahata will handle this, but—” 

But Shion was unable to stand still. The world seemed to slow down tremendously as she watched another blade swing toward Shosei’s unguarded side. She brought her hands up without a thought, palms burning as she signed. “Shield.” 

Light flared from her palm and a glowing barrier sprung up between Shosei and the blade. The speed and force sent the cloaked cultist flying backwards into the trees. 

She stared at her palms in awe for a moment, chest heaving softly. She had done that.
More voices cried out in anger or reverence and blades were hurled in their direction, threatening to strike them down where they stood. Shion pressed his back to Shosei’s side, her hands furiously weaving shapes that she could even comprehend in that moment. “Shield. Protect. Stop.”

Several barriers blossomed around Yahata, deflecting spears and knives alike as they hurled toward him. One cultist’s strike bounced off of the shield and sent him stumbling back, leaving Yahata staring at Shion in shock before cutting the cultist down with his blade. 

His expression grew even darker. It was one born not out of anger but a raw, reluctant respect. 

'So the girl fights,' he thought to himself. He cut another enemy down, stepping closer to her side.
Shosei waved his hands like an orchestra conductor, sending shreds of paper around the fiends to slow them down and make it difficult to see while Yahata continued to swing his blade and Shion continued to hold her concentration on protecting them all. 

Deafening silence returned to the night as the last cultist fell lifeless to the ground.
Shion’s arms dropped, dangling at her sides for a moment as her hands trembled. Her chest heaved softly as she struggled to catch her bread. She signed shakily, “I didn’t mean to…” She began to drop to her knees in exhaustion and Yahata caught her waist. He wordlessly guided her to sit before walking over to inspect the carnage. 

Shosei knelt before her and gently gripped her hands, “But you did. And that’s why you’re still alive, Shion. Actually, that’s why we’re all still alive.” 

Yahata began to clean his blade in silence, his faze fixed on her and Shosei as they communicated. Though she couldn’t be sure of what exactly his expression held, she was positive that he no longer viewed her as a burden. This thought brought her great relief. She continued to sit unmoving for a moment, trying to understand it all. 

It was then that Shion saw her out of the corner of her eye. There was a little girl, no older than five or six, peeking out from behind some rocks. She had dark, tangled tresses and fearful red eyes.
The child had clearly hidden through the fight, watching with a mixture of terror and curiosity that kept her feet glued in place. Shion’s gaze met the little girl’s and Shion began to sign with a gentle expression. “It’s okay…” 

The child flinched away, scampering off into the trees like a frightened fawn.
Shion looked down at her hands with a troubled expression. Shion was frightened of the powers growing inside of herself. Therefore, she couldn’t blame the child for getting spooked and running away. 

“Someone else?” Shosei asked softly, his own eyes followed the direction Shion had stepped in. He sighed, pushing his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose, “Hm. I suppose I will pay it no mind for now…Hardly seems like a threat,” he murmured quietly, scribbling notes down. 

Yahata slowly swiped his sword across his sleeve one more time before slowly sheathing it as he looked toward the treeline as well. After a moment, he spun on his heel and began looking over the fallen cultists for any useful supplies or information. 

Shion hugged herself, staring into the woods long after the girl had gone, only snapping out of her daze when Shosei called for her. 

“Shion! Yahata says we need to move out,” he called to her. 

She turned, nodding softly. As Shion began to walk toward the gods, her knees buckled softly and her world began to spin. Black crossed her vision and the last thing she recalled was the feeling of the dry earth beneath her.
—
‘Wake her up.’ Yahata mouthed, eyebrows furrowed. He pointed to Shion whose head was now laying on the scribe’s lap. 

Shosei merely shrugged before speaking, “She has barely slept since she arrived and she has had neither food nor water. She is a mortal and her body is likely overwhelmed with her new abilities.” 

Yahata hated when the lesser god was right…which was often. Humans were such weak creatures. There was a time when he had found it charming but in this moment, it just filled him with frustration. 

‘Precisely why we need to get her to fix Mizuchi,’ he mouthed slowly. If he still had a voice, it would be twinged with annoyance and Shosei knew it. 

“And how is she supposed to continue on in this state?” Shosei asked him pointedly, his airy, carefree personality replaced with one of pure analytics. 

Yahata sucked in a breath of annoyance before exhaling loudly. ‘Give the girl to me. I’ll carry her,’ his lips moved before transforming into a frown that only deepened when Shosei excitedly clapped his hands together. 

“Atta boy! I knew you’d come up with some sort of solution,” he hummed, clapping his hands together. He helped settle Shion onto Yahata’s back who then shifted her, hoisting her up higher on his back, one arm tucking under her hips to hold her in place. The other continued to rest on his swords as they pressed on.
—
Shion was moving…but how? And for how long? She slowly opened her eyes, fully expecting to see the inside of a train car with Japanese architecture zipping past. To her surprise, however, her eyes once more opened to a land covered in endless twilight, corpse-like foliage, and a slowly approaching town square. 

“Shion! You’re awake!” Shosei chirped happily as soon as he saw her eyes open. She blinked a few more times and rubbed her eyes as her ride – the War God, Yahata – came to a stop. Getting the hint, she slid off of his back and steadied herself. 

“Thank you for caring for me.” She signed. 

“She is thankful to you for taking care of her,” Shosei translated. Yahata pressed his lips together and his expression was unreadable as he gave a curt nod. Seeing that as enough, Shosei began to press on, making sure to stay close to Shion’s side. 

“We just need to pass through Mizu Village to get to the Water God’s temple. This village was once the most blessed in the region,” he explained as they entered the edge of the village. 

The village square reeked of fever-sweat, rot, and stagnant water. Wells and fountains were placed in various areas, slumbering or crumbling completely. Mothers cradled children with thirst-cracked lips close to their breasts, their pleas to the gods long since unheard in the centuries that had followed the Silence. The way their skin clung to their bones made Shion’s bottom lip quiver and she bit back the tears that threatened to fall. 

Yahata stopped for a moment before pointing ahead at a large temple that looked as though it had once been built over a lake. 

Shion nodded and followed him as Shosei guided her forward with a hand on her shoulder. The cries of children and mothers alike tugged at her heart and she had to press on. And so she did.
—
The once-beautiful shrine was crumbling, bridges cracked and rotted, the lake surrounding the temple had dried up, leaving behind small puddles of filthy sludge. A god lay sprawled across the bridge, his blue hair dull and tangled, his eyes clouded green like stagnant water.

Mizuchi laid on his side on a small bridge that had once overlooked a small, beautiful pond. The gentle god had once loved running his fingers through the water and watching the koi fish nibble softly at him, believing his fingers to be food. Now, his fingertips touched putrid, water that was clouded. Rather than bring life, it most certainly would make anyone who drank it sick.
His eyes flicked upward toward Yahata and Shosei, not yet noticing the girl that was walking behind them. 

“My brothers…it’s been centuries,” he rasped through parched lips. “What brings you to the remains of my temple?” he asked sadly. 

“Mizuchi…I think there’s someone you’ll want to meet. She can help us,” Shosei said gently. He stepped to the side and revealed Shion’s presence.
She rang her hands nervously as she took in the sight of the god. She was certain that he had once been vibrant and just as beautiful as the others she met.