The God Who Waited by the Water

Two centuries ago, it had been a beautiful and serene lake but now, the deep dip in the ground was merely a dried out bowl of dust. All that remained were small puddles – inky, foul-smelling, and unmoving.

Shion’s gaze, however, remained locked onto the figure sprawled across the bridge above the former lake. Mizuchi sat slowly; his hair was matted and dull, and his eyes, once bright and clear, were clouded like stagnant water. The sight made her throat tighten. ‘He looks…so hollow,’ she thought sadly.

Mizuchi’s clouded gaze moved to her, his dull, sunken eyes settling on Shion as Shosei carefully stepped onto the dry rotted bridge and knelt beside him. “We are here because of her,” Shosei said gently, gesturing to Shion. “She may be able to restore you,” he said with more conviction than before.

There was only exhaustion and sadness as Mizuchi spoke again. “They called my name over and over until their voices grew hoarse. I stayed awake and I wanted to help. I always heard them but I could not do anything for them…so they died,” he rasped. “They stopped trusting me; so they started cursing me instead.

The words clawed at Shion’s heart and she stepped forward with renewed conviction. It was clear that these people, and the gods, needed help. If she was the one who could do so, then she would. ‘It’s worth a try,’ she thought to herself.

She slowly made a sign with her hand before touching Mizuchi’s hand. Pale blue light spiraled from her fingertips like ripples across the water and the ground began to shudder. The Water God’s eyes widened as the glow faintly flowed around his arm. His dull hair became alive once more, shimmering like the ocean and rippling like a river at dawn. His murky eyes cleared, looking like crystalline, unpolluted lakes. The exhale that passed through his lips sounded like rain falling on the parched earth.

“This power,” he observed, gently gripping her hand still, “It is not the silence of destruction but the stillness of rebirth and renewal.”

Shion brought her hands back to her chest and signed slowly, “You’re better now.”

Mizuchi gave a soft, almost embarrassed chuckle. “Better? Perhaps. Whole? Not remotely. The wells still run dry and the rivers, what remains of them, are filled with poison. But I do feel less alone.”

Shion nodded in understanding; it was a start but on his own, Mizuchi could not act alone. None of the gods were able to do so. Otherwise, they already would have. It was why Amayori had seemed so envious of her; why Yahata glared her down.

Shion stepped off the bridge, feeling more determined than ever. ‘I’ll just have to show him,’ she thought. She knelt beside the emptied out pond, her hands forming the signs for “water” and “flow.” Slowly, bright blue water began to fill the pond, washing away old scum and sludge. Right before their eyes, the first clean water in nearly 2000 years flowed up from the earth, beautiful and untouched.

“Wow…” Mizuchi marveled, placing his hands over his mouth, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

“Shion. I believe I would be honored if we could work together on restoring water to this land,” he told her.

Shion’s chest felt warm and she nodded eagerly.

“For now, however, it would be best that we all rest up,” Mizuchi added. He got to his feet and led them inside the temple.

—

The next few days blurred; knowing day from night was impossible in this world but Shion took solace in Mizuchi’s patient guidance and the way his mellow voice carried wisdom like drifting currents.

On the first day, Mizuchi led her to a forgotten well buried beneath a mossy shrine, the stones cracked with age, the streams clogged by rot. Shion knelt beside the well, signing carefully as light threaded through her fingertips and into the stone. The water gurgled softly, seeping through softly. It was dark and sluggish with small, clear streams trickling through. However, it stopped altogether after a moment.

Shion clenched her fists at her side. “I’m sorry,” she signed to him.

“You mustn’t force your abilities. Or the water,” he assured her, crouching beside her and running his fingers through one of the small trickles of clear water. “If commanded too harshly, water resists. However, it remembers. It just just needs a little bit of guidance. Go ahead. Try again,” he said gently.

Shion nodded with newfound conviction and tried again, she signed with one hand and placed her free hand next to Mizuchi’s. With wide eyes, she watched the waters stir and awaken, flowing to the surface.

“With proper guidance,” Mizuchi began as he ran his hands through the water, “the currents will flow.”

“So…it’s like me then,” She signed. She watched the stream curl around her fingers, as well as Mizuchi’s.

Tilting his head in her direction to study her, he smiled warmly, “Yes. That’s exactly right.”

—

The next day, Mizuchi led them a bit deeper into what had been a lush forest with a once-lively riverbed. The trees were broken and hollow, their barren branches clawing at the dark sky. What had once been the river was now a cracked and dry hollow in the ground, it’s memory carved into the Earth. Mizuchi closed his eyes, listening carefully.

“This river was once the pride of the village. And it was my pride as well,” he said softly. His hands touched a boulder with ancient letters carved into it. “Lovers carved their names into the stone. Children gleefully splashed about in the summer. And fisherman cast their nets here, making a living for themselves and feeding their families. But it has long since disappeared.”

Mizuchi’s sorrow was heavy in the air, pressing down like a thick humidity. He wasn’t sure if she was ready but it was worth a try.

Shion stood beside him and took a step forward. “I will help you. And them.”

Shion looked at the riverbed with determination and placed one hand on the stone. Raising the other, she signed, “flow,” but nothing happened. She knitted her brows together and tried again and again, growing more impatient. This was such an important source of life for what remained of this world. So why…Why couldn’t she do it? It would bubble but nothing would come up.

She kept trying until tears welled up in her eyes and Mizuchi stepped in front of her, gripping her hands softly.

“Shion,” the Water God said in a firm but gentle tone, “Take it slow. It’s okay. You look exhausted.”

And the truth was…she was exhausted. There was very little access to food and she had only managed to restore one lake. Still…one more time. Shion looked him in the eyes and nodded firmly.

Shosei watched them both, excitedly scribbling away at a speed faster than the human eye could even register. “Mizuchi…place your hand on the rock,” the scribe told the other god. “It’s how Shion and I restored the first of my texts.”

Mizuchi let go of one of Shion’s hands and placed his on the rock. His eyes faced forward toward the riverbed as Shion began to sign again. This time, the earth tremored as blue light seeped from the stone into the ground. Another trickle. Shion’s shoulders sagged; she was feeling hopeless.

Before she could pull her hand away, Mizuchi tightened his grip – not in a painful way. It was a reassuring squeeze. Just then, with a sudden burst, clear water rushed forward, filling the bed.

Mizuchi gasped and rushed forward, stepping into the river as the currents raged around his ankles. Her success only seemed to revive the Water God further. His posture no longer drooped. He was like a flower that was finally seeing the sun, a quiet but real laugh tumbling from his lips.

Down in the village, he heard cries of confusion followed by joy. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

“Amazing,” he whispered, “I had forgotten the sound.”

Shion’s chest swelled with warmth before she stepped into the water with him and ran her wet hands through her hair. ‘I did this. I really…did this,’ she thought.

—

That evening was quiet as they sat around a small fire outside of Mizuchi’s temple. He rinsed a wooden bowl in the lake before filling it with crystal clear water and passing it to Shion. She took a large drink and leaned back against a small rock.

“Water carries memory,” Mizuchi reminded her softly. “From the mountains, to the rivers, to the seas – and before that, the sky. It is always listening, always carrying secrets with it. Knowledge flows with the current. Perhaps that is why, like Shosei, I can understand you more clearly.”

Shion listened to him carefully as she finished the bowl of water. It felt amazing and made her feel renewed. She looked at him with curiosity. “Because I am quiet?” She signed.

He shook his head with a faint smile. “Because you are steady,” he corrected gently. “And because you listen to the needs of others.”

Shion had spent all of her life listening, but not enough of it being listened to or heard. Here, she felt as though she was heard. Shosei…Mizuchi…even Yahata. Though he mostly just glared at her as she signed, waiting on Shosei or Mizuchi to translate for him. She flushed faintly and looked into the lake, tracing idle signs into the dirt.

—

After a much needed night of rest, they began their restoration efforts early. Rather, the gods told her it was early. She had no concept of the time without the sun or the moon.

Throughout the day, they uncovered forgotten wells in small, nearby villages that had been brought to ruin. Sometimes, there was enough water to drink, other times there was only a small amount of water that would bubble up, glimmering softly, before fading once more.

Soon, she did not need to touch Mizuchi’s hand to bring forth the water. Each success seemed to revive the Water God further. His voice, though still mellow and soft, was no longer weighed down by despair. His tone flowed with a warm and melodic tone.

As they stopped at their final well for the night, Shion took the time to ask him the question that had been weighing on her mind since she had met him. “Why…why did you not go to sleep like the others?” She knew why Shosei had stayed awake – he was dedicated to recording every bit of history as it happened. That was his duty.

Mizuchi gave her a sad smile before speaking. “I felt as though I would be turning my back on them,” he admitted to her. And to himself. “They prayed, even as the rivers began to run dry. I heard them and I stayed. I carried buckets of water from my temple’s lake but it was not enough. I failed them.”

Shion listened to him and squeezed her hands together. She wanted to tell him that he was being far too hard on himself, that even just trying was plenty.

Mizuchi kept his eyes forward as he stepped over a fallen branch. “Perhaps, it was all so I could meet you. And guide you.”

Shion’s breath caught in her throat. It was truly an honor but she was not sure how to respond. Finally, she settled on a simple expression of her gratitude. “Thank you.”

—

Once they arrived back at the shrine, Shion leaned against a rock, closing her eyes to rest for a moment from the exhaustion. Shosei had been recording everything that had happened. Finally, after a few moments, his quill ceased its movement and he spoke softly.

“Shion,” he began, “I think it is imperative to understand why some of the gods are, or will be wary of you. And why it is that the Wordless One and Shijima no Kami are so similar and yet, they’re enemies.”

Shion lifted her head and opened her eyes slowly, meeting his gaze over the soft glow of the fire that Yahata was prodding before standing and walking some distance away.

“Once, the two were the same being,” Shosei said, bringing his hands together and clasping them. “Silence and creation; they were two sides of the same coin. But neither they nor the universe could bear for them to be united. It was too much power for one god alone. So they were split.”

Shion watched him pull his hands apart. So that was why there was so much confusion over her powers, who she was, and what her intentions were.

“Shijima no Kami could create symphonies from silence, weaving form from the void. One the other hand, the Wordless One was what remained. An emptiness that swallows up and destroys.”

Shion looked at the sky, forever trapped in darkness. The sun brought no warmth as it was unable to rise and the water had dried up and disappeared until she had arrived. She stared at her hands. Her abilities scared even her.

Shosei shoved his glasses up his nose, the light of the flame glinting off of them as he continued to speak, eyes fixed on the flames. “When Shijima used the last of the power to seal the Wordless One and prevent further destruction, they too disappeared from this world, leaving behind only the echo of their prophecy. It was the first and the last time Shijima spoke to us. I recorded it in one of my texts. I believe it will be vital moving forward.”

Shion listened carefully before raising her hands with unease. “Do you really think that I am part of that prophecy?”

Shosei let a faint but terse smile pull at the corner of his lips, “I don’t just think so, Shion. I know so and Mizuchi does too. The answer that the other gods and the Cult of the Wordless One want to know is…which half are you, exactly?”

. . .

Not everyone shared in the faith that Mizuchi and Shosei held, however.

From across the fire, Yahata watched, his arms folded over his chest and his red eyes locked onto Shion’s moving hands. He furrowed his brow, attempting to commit the movements to memory and to piece together what she was saying without the reliance of Shosei or Mizuchi.

Every twist of her wrist, every flick of her fingers was a knife in his silence. As the War God, he had loudly commanded legions with his words, had led charges with his battle cries. And now, he could not even speak his own thoughts. Watching her communicate so freely with the other two gods frustrated him and made him restless.

When Shion glanced over at him, offering a small smile, his gaze hardened before he looked away. He gathered his things and walked inside the temple to rest.

. . .

From farther away, another pair of eyes lingered, watching carefully. Amayori stood atop a large hill that overlooked the valleys of Mizu Village. The Sun Goddess’s orange eyes were sharp with wary light.

“She heals the rivers, yes,” she murmured to herself, “but what else can those hands of hers accomplish?”

The memory of warmth lingered in her hand from when Shion had touched her, and had shown her. Mistrust, however, weighed heavier in the goddess’s heart. She could not forget the silence that had nearly devoured the world.

She clenched her hand into a fist at her side, her jaw tight. “I will continue to watch,” she promised before disappearing once more.

. . .

Near their encampment at Mizu Shrine, a much smaller shadow lingered at the edges of the group. A little girl had been padding softly behind them when they traveled. Her bare feet were silent on the ground. The child’s eyes shimmered with wonder whenever Shion’s hands lit up, making shapes that made the rivers bubble up and the streams trickle awake.

To the girl, it was magic unlike anything she had seen in her lifetime. It filled her with excitement but she was careful not to get caught. Not yet.