The Festival

Over twenty years since Giseizawa held its last festival and for good reason. With the arrival of witches, fireworks fell out of favour and large gatherings at night put people on edge. But after two decades, when the daimyo announced a revival of the tradition to celebrate killing a captured witch, the city happily put those feelings aside. Vendors spent evenings building their stalls, old men who hadn't made a single firework in years came out of retirement, and everywhere in the streets, people were talking. Arata just hoped the word found its way to Turushno, wherever he hid.

Arata walked the perimeter of the festival grounds with Nagami. They chose the flood plain—wide, few blind spots, and far from any houses in case everything went wrong. Labourers constructed the rows of stalls without a comment about why they were arranged in abstract shapes. The paths they created stretched between watch towers all arranged around a central lookout. Arata's lookout. 

They turned to watch their salvation's construction. Four runged beams supported a central nest. Atop it, the witch would be tied. From up there, he had the clearest view of the area. If Turushno appeared to free the witch—and they hoped he did—Arata would spot him and beat a drum to alert the others. Witch hunters in each watch tower would fill him with arrows, the closest would come to finish the job. If they lost a few stalls along the way, so be it, the fireworks were too high up for him to control the explosion. All it relied on was for Arata to give the signal.

Neither spoke. They let silence carry all the meaning they needed it to.

***

Shinutcha could hear the commotion outside. She could glimpse a parade of people in colourful robes walking along the street, some of them wearing masks, some carrying lanterns. Grandmother had stopped speaking with her because she was bad and didn’t go with Turushno. Ever since then the huntsman had been so busy he refused to visit her. It wasn’t fair being left alone like this, she wanted someone to talk to, to ask her questions and she would ask questions back. Trapped in that house, she couldn’t breathe.

She looked out of the window again at the crowd outside but shook her head. The huntsman would be so upset with her if she snuck out, he was mad even when she left the room to decorate the house. She looked one more time between the slats. He always came back so late, if she just went for a little bit, he wouldn’t notice. Not only that but today made it easy to hide amongst so many people, she would just cover her head with some cloth.

A box of clothes from the girl who lived in this room before was in the corner, Shinutcha hadn’t opened it yet. If she wanted to find some clothes, that would be where she would find some. She struggled more than she thought to get it open, the girl must have been very strong, but what was inside was worth it. Sashes and ribbons and robes of every colour and pattern. She held one in her hand and the fabric slipped through her fingers, so soft to touch. Then at the bottom of the box, she found something that made her heart race. A deep red robe with long sleeves, like what the people outside were wearing, decorated with blue flowers. Shinutcha tried it on. It fit her and she was pretty sure she was wearing it properly, the hardest part was just tying the ribbon around her waist. In the end she gave up and tied a knot instead. Finally, she picked out a pink sash and tied it over her braids to cover the ends that glowed like incense. That was her biggest giveaway.

Once again, the huntsman forgot to lock the door, although most of his house was destroyed so he was probably busy doing other things. Before she left, she checked her reflection in the outside bath, stepping over a pile of burnt stuff lying half-buried in the sand. The face Turushno gave her smiled back. She was ready.

Walking onto the street felt strange after so long inside the huntsman’s house, especially surrounded by so many people. Turushno had always told her to only move at night when no one was watching. Well, it was evening now, so she was almost halfway there, and it wasn’t like anyone was actually watching her. It doth suffice, she thought, but looking at the ground to hide her face was getting painful. Other children wore masks and soon she found a stall herself, faces of animals hanging by strings from the ceiling.  Slipping her hand through the crowd, she grabbed the first thing she touched: a mask of a white fox. That’s foolish, foxes be not white, She giggled in her head, they art black and burning.

Tying the strings behind her head, she ran in the direction of the procession, and slipped unnoticed into the festival.

***

The plain became busier as the crowds seeped in. That meant more places Turushno could hide. Overhead lamps, too high for a witch to use, washed the paths in warm glows. On occasion, children and teenagers carried lanterns on sticks. The daimyo gave strict instructions not to but with all of the witch hunters on lookout, there was no one there to enforce it. It was an indication of their trust in the city after years of tragedies. Surely this witch they’re killing is the one who was setting all the fires, that must have been the thought, why else would the daimyo hold a festival after so long?

Arata gritted his teeth. If anyone asked afterwards, they would say there was never a plan to bait a witch out. If they had to hunt a murderer, they would need to think like one. He scanned the crowd again, the image of a figure in dark wraps with a pointed, wide-brimmed hat fresh in his mind. It wasn’t difficult to picture, after all, he was stationed right below one. After the fireworks, their final bet to bait Turushno was scalping one of his ally, one of his sisters, in front of the crowd. If it came to that, he would need to be the one that dealt the final blow. He hoped it came to that.

A small shape stood out to him in the crowd, red and blue. The girl wore the same type of kimono he bought for Chiyo the birthday before she went missing. She had adored it, he wasn't surprised to see another like it. That kimono must have been in the bottom of a box of clothes in the corner of Shinutcha’s room and the realisation was like a knife to the gut. A passerby wouldn’t comment, they wouldn’t even notice, but the girl covered her face with a fox mask and wore a sash around her head, almost to hide her hair. It was a sash Arata knew was in the same box as the kimono.

He saw her direction and climbed down the watch tower to intercept her. His movements were purposeful instead of hurried, the last thing he wanted was to attract attention. As he began to push through crowd, the fireworks started. The sky filled with red, the lights playing across all of the upturned eyes. He was only focussed on one target on the ground.

Shinutcha shot past him around his legs and a second later he clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Why are you here, Shinutcha?” He hissed, crouching to her eye level.

She struggled against his grip. “Thou art mistaken.” Her voice was higher than normal, maybe she was trying to disguise it. “That is not mine own name.” He didn’t know who that was meant to convince.

“Go home and don’t come out again.” His voice was as unyielding as cold steel. He couldn’t lead her back, just being down here was abandoning his post. She needed to understand the message “This is too dangerous.”

Her response was drowned out by the boom of another firework and blue light flooded the festival. They were all meant to be red. Arata spun around, searching for a tall figure in a wide hat. Nothing. He couldn’t still be burning peat and concentrating on controlling another flame, he had to be somewhere. And how could he control fire that high, unless he was actually high up himself. Arata drew his vision to his own watch tower. He found him, cutting the bonds of the captured witch.

“Go home!” He shouted as he broke into a run. His role was as lookout and his drum was still in his tower. As he climbed, the explosions were replaced by another sound: screams. Arata looked around in all directions and saw their source: the remains of the fireworks had landed in a circle in the festival ground, igniting the grass. Even though the flames were low, something was wrong. No one was crossing through the circle. No one could.

Fireworks burnt powdered metal to produce their colour. They had just let Turushno create a new type of witch circle, the only kind Shinutcha did not know about.