The Child Who Mimics My Hands

Another day came and went, and Shion found herself back at Mizu Temple. They had spent much of the day restoring the aquifers that ran from the rivers to the village. Now, the campfire flickered low against the endless dusky sky. The shadows of trees and their gnarled branches stretched long and thin, straining under the weight of the world’s silence.

Shion sat close to her teacher, listening to the Water God speak in a calm voice. His voice guided her hands like a gentle current as she practiced the subtle signs her had urged her to refine and harness.

“When given shape, water and silence alike flow,” he murmured, his eyes reflecting the firelight as he watched her. “Do not allow your hands to falter, or the meaning will scatter. Anchor your intentions and then sign.”

Shion exhaled deeply, concentrating hard on her hands as she signed again. “Protect.”

Soft light pooled like dew around her fingers, shimmering softly. It faded just as quickly as it had appeared, but Mizuchi gave a nod of approval.

“Better,” he praised. “Much better.”

Warmth swelled in her chest. ‘He really is like a teacher,’ she thought. ‘Nothing like Yahata’s stern nature or Shosei’s nonstop scribbling. Mizuchi’s patience is…it’s safe.’

Even as Mizuchi spoke with patience and care, unease was trickling through the group, anxiety pricking at the hair on the backs of their necks. Yahata’s ruby eyes were affixed on the dark trees beyond the campfire. With unrest, his hand hovered over the handle of his sword.

And Shosei, whose smile was unwavering as he wrote in his scrolls, glanced often toward the sky as if expecting something ominous to fall from it. The gods were clearly unsettled, and Shion felt it too.

The rustle came first. And then there was the faint snapping of twigs. The sound was softer than any small animal would make, what remained of them. Yahata was the first to his feet, his blade drawn and his silhouette sharp against the fire. His posture and expression communicated everything that he could not say with words. ‘Stay back.’

From between the trees came neither warrior nor cultist, but a small child. The little girl was barefoot, no older than 5 or 6 in appearance, her tangled hair shining faintly in the dull firelight. Her wide red eyes looked past the Warrior God’s blade as if it were nothing, fixing instead on Shion.

Her tiny hands raised, and she mimicked the sign she had just seen Shion make. “Protect.”

The air around her hands shivered softly, and Shion’s breath stopped for a moment.Mizuchi's whisper from beside her was almost reverent, “A demigod.”

Heedless of Yahata’s tense stance, the girl continued to step forward. Shosei held up his hand, signalling for Yahata to pause. He glared but did just that. They watched the child creep closer to Shion. She stopped a few steps away from her and parted her lips to speak. She was old enough to speak, but only some sounds came out. She frowned a bit.

‘Is she…like me?’ Shion wondered, her chest aching. Slowly, Shion raised her hands to sign, “Hello.”

“H…hello…” The child murmured cutely, clumsily copying Shion’s gestures. Light danced faintly at her fingertips once more before vanishing.

Shion swallowed hard, blinking away tears that burned the corners of her eyes. “You understand me.”

The little girl giggled, a shy but delighted sound. She once again mimicked the sign. Her tiny hands fumbled imperfectly, but it was close enough.

Shosei leaned forward, adjusting his glasses and observing with great interest. His blue eyes were wide with awe and a bit of concern. “She’s learning,” he gasped.

Yahata’s gaze sharpened, and he growled softly. ‘Dangerous,’ he mouthed, sheathing his sword but glaring down at the child coldly. His jaw tightened as though even mouthing the word would cost him.

Mizuchi looked at the child gently, “What is your name, little one?”

The child opened and closed her mouth. It was clear she had not had much contact with people, and therefore, her speech was not as advanced. “Hi…ka…ri,” she said after a moment.

Shion smiled. ‘Beautiful. A name of light,’ she thought to herself. Shion gathered her into her arms, pulling the small child against her chest.

“She needs us,” she signed to the gods.

Mizuchi moved to crouch beside both of them. His mellow voice was gentle, “This little girl is proof that mortals are not just witnesses to your abilities, but they’re able to learn.”

“She’s like a bridge between the mortals and gods. Just like you. And just like Shijima foresaw,” Shosei added. Yahata gave a skeptical huff.

Their words made Shion’s heart rate quicken, but her stomach knotted. 'If Hikari can learn…others can too. And the cult will absolutely want her. And the gods might fear her or hurt her,' she thought. The cult's followers, who worshipped the Wordless One, believed that silence was the ultimate power, a force that should reign supreme over the world. 

They saw Hikari as a potential tool that could either bring about their twisted views of salvation. This belief would drive them to pursue Hikari relentlessly, seeing her as a pivotal figure that could tip the balance in their favor. Shion was filled with unease and determination.

Hikari nestled herself against Shion’s side, clumsily mimicking Shion’s signs, her little eyes drooping sleepily.

Mizuchi stood and drew Shosei aside, lowering his voice.

“Chishan watches the threads nonstop,” Mizuchi said, his eyes fixed on the lake. “If he senses this girl’s bond with Shion, it won’t end well,” he warned.

A long, low sigh escaped Shosei’s lips as he brushed ink residue from his hands. “Chishan has always trusted me more than most. But even he…” His voice wavered. “Even he may doubt what I believe about her.”

“You should be careful,” Mizuchi warned softly. “You two have always had a beautiful bond. You need that bond. I only have so much pull amongst the other gods.”Shosei answered with a small, pained smile.. . .Yahata stood apart from everyone, watching from the edge of their tiny encampment. His cold gaze lingered on Hikari with a strange look, something colder than suspicion. For just a moment, his eyes softened as the little girl curled against Shion for warmth, her tiny hands signing ‘safe.’His fist curled at his side, and his jaw tightened. He stepped closer to them before kneeling so that Shion could see him more clearly in the shadows.

Hikari smiled up at him. Shion looked up at him curiously, and he sighed loudly. ‘She needs to be far away,’ he mouthed slowly.

Anger launched down her spine like lightning, and she glared at the War God. The firelight caught worry and frustration in her gray eyes. She shook her head.

Yahata’s glare burned into her, and his expression otherwise remained unreadable. She glared back at him, wondering why he looked at Hikari with such disdain. As she turned back to the sleepy child, her hand brushed against his carelessly.

The contact was brief–no more than a graze–but it was enough to send a jolt through her. Yahata froze, nearly as stiff as when she had first seen him. His hand lingered a fraction of a second too long before he quickly pulled away, his fingers curling into a fist at his side as he stood.

He refused to look back at Shion, leaving the air between them taut and heavy with something unspoken. She swallowed hard but smiled at Hikari. Gently, she guided the child’s small fingers into the sign for “warmth.”

Yahata had retreated back to the edge of the camp, his gaze flicked between the shimmer surrounding the child’s hands, back to Shion’s hands, his expression blank.. . . Far beyond the reach of the fire, Amayori’s golden hair glowed faintly. The goddess stood, watching with piqued interest.

And farther still, Chishan’s loom restlessly weaved patterns of possibility unlike any he had seen. The gods were watching more closely now, and their opinions of both Shion and Hikari were not united.

Drawing her even closer, Shion held Hikari to her chest and guided her once more into signing “warmth.” As the child’s tiny hands formed the gesture, a spark of divine light danced between her fingers.

The child’s tiny hands shaped the gesture, a spark of divine light dancing faintly between her fingers.

‘She might be the key or worse, the bait,’ Shion thought with a small shudder.