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☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ
Pumpkin-orange sunrays beamed through barren tree branches, spilling viscous autumn light onto Konan’s worktable. Her swift and certain fingers manipulated a slip of crisp white paper, folding it into yet another ghost trap. The incantation she muttered under her breath was one she had recited six thousand, six hundred and sixty-two times this season. This time, the last time, should have only been the six-thousandth…
A brutal wind rattled the panes of the cottage’s thick glass windows. Konan looked up from her work to watch the spindly trees outside sway in an ominous dance—Halloween was tonight. They were behind schedule.
“Master Konan?” called a small voice from the hallway. Ah, there was the reason they were behind schedule: Konan’s young apprentice, Deidara.
Konan tucked the final finished trap among the six hundred and sixty-two others overflowing the basket at her elbow, pushed out her stool, and stood. She took her time to stretch her back, lifting her arms high above her head, circling and flexing her stiff wrists. Then, in a swirl of skirts, she spun to face the door, startling little Deidara.
The boy jumped back, half-hiding himself behind the door frame. His straw-yellow hair concealed his left eye; his right eye was lost in the shadow of the frame. He still feared the wrath that Konan had unleashed upon him yesterday.
Konan’s expression remained impassive. “I hope you’re here to tell me you’ve finished placing all the traps I gave you,” she said, smoothing her skirt and whisking her hat from its hook. She combed wisps of purple hair away from her face, then planted the hat firmly on top of her head. “And not that once again you’ve destroyed my hard work while carelessly practising your magic.”
Deidara hung his head, unable to meet his master’s eye as he replied:
“I placed them all. All five thousand, three hundred and thirty-seven of them.” His voice quivered.
Seeing his fear, Konan softened ever-so-slightly.
“It’s early yet, Deidara,” she murmured. “The walking dead still sleep…”
Deidara shrunk in on himself. “I know…” he said in a small voice. “I just…”
“You are not the lost little boy you were when I found you last Halloween, Deidara,” Konan continued, power building in her voice, “sacrificed to the Forest by your village because you were ‘cursed’—your ‘curse’ is powerful magic! Has your training with me been for nothing?”
Confidence swelled in Deidara’s chest. She was right: in the past year, he had grown strong. What did he have to fear? He looked up, visible blue eye sparkling.
“I went everywhere in the Forest, all the way to the edges,” he bragged. “Everywhere but the Gorge, like you said, un.”
“Of course.” She had found it best not to overdo the praise with Deidara. Fixing him with a stern glare, she added:
“Anything else you’d like to say to your Master before we set off?”
He blinked at her for a moment before understanding dawned, and embarrassment flushed his cheeks. He bowed.
“I’m sorry for exploding your traps, Master Konan!” he exclaimed at the floor. “I’ll be more careful next time, I promise, un.”
With a nod, Konan swept the basket of traps off the table and into her arms.
“Let’s go,” she commanded, peering down her nose at her little apprentice. His cloak was crooked around his shoulders, but holding the basket, she was unable to straighten it for him. “Night will have fallen by the time we place these remaining traps in the Gorge.”
Deidara followed closely on his master’s heels. “And that’s when the ghosts and walking dead will start to appear, right?”
“Yes,” Konan replied, reaching for a blanket to throw over the basket of traps lest the fierce winds take them. “Remind me: why do we place these traps, Apprentice?”
Deidara’s response was knocked from his mouth by the gust of air which hurtled through the front door. He clutched at his cloak, tugging it tightly around his body. Outside, brittle brown oak leaves swirled through the clearing, fallen from the massive tree that stood watch over the cottage. Powerful orange sunlight soaked into every surface as the sun slipped over the horizon.
Finding his voice, Deidara recalled the lesson: “It’s part of the ancient pact between the Witches of the Forest and the villagers outside,” he recited. “We protect the villages from the ma—malish—” He could never remember that word! “—the evil undead which pass through the Veil on Halloween, un.”
“‘Malicious,’” Konan reminded. Blood red sunlight oozed through the cross-hatch of branches and tree trunks before them. They reached the tree-line, and slipped silently into the shadows.
“Ma—malicious, un,” Deidara whispered. The Forest swallowed the sound.
Witches moved through the Forest with a grace that normal humans could only envy. Deidara had trained for months before his feet fell as softly as Master Konan’s, before he could sway between saplings without bruising a single leaf. Now, he padded after her, quiet and alert, sensing the earth through his thin-soled boots, breathing in time with the life-energy that pulsed through the Forest, the source of its magic. The source of his magic, and his master’s.
“Master Konan,” Deidara called suddenly, shattering the silence. The Forest around them shuddered. “Why must the undead be malicious?”
Konan paused in her tracks. She had never considered this before. As she chewed over the question, checking the placement of a trap tucked between tree roots at her feet, daylight faded, sanguine red light diffusing into the palest of pinks.
“The walking dead don’t know any better,” she finally murmured. “Their master did not know what monsters he was creating when he cast his spell…”
Deidara’s eyes grew wide, pupils dilating in the dimming light.
“The walking dead were summoned? By… a…”
“By a witch. I knew him,” Konan said quietly. “He was like a brother to me, but now he sleeps. Every year on Halloween, his creatures roam the Forest, wandering the Paths of Pain…”
A shiver travelled up Deidara’s spine at the memory of those shambling monsters with their brilliant orange hair and staring purple eyes… He shook himself and clenched his fists.
“Well, they’re not getting my brains this year!” Deidara declared. “I’ll burn them up with my magic!”
Konan clicked her tongue. “Let us hope it does not come to that. We’ll have our hands full managing these traps. We must leave the walking dead to Master Kakashi and Master Obito.”
“So… ghosts… What’s so bad about them?”
An insidious whisper of wind pushed through the clearing, slipping icy fingers down the back of Konan’s neck, chilling Deidara’s cheeks. Mist spiralled around their ankles. Instinctively, Konan scanned the shadows. Things in the Forest were beginning to stir.
“Let’s not talk of them now, Deidara-kun. We have work to do.”
They had arrived at the mouth of the Gorge.
A weakly-flowing river ran down the centre. The floor of the Gorge was strewn with enormous boulders, remnants of canyon wall that had lain in place for centuries. Scraggly trees and bushes clung to life between the rocks, but the space was silent as a graveyard.
It was here that the Veil was thinnest of all. Already, in the murky twilight, Konan could sense them stirring.
“We must hurry, Apprentice.”
“Yes, Master… un.”
☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ
It took the final hour of dying dusk for the two of them to set up all six-hundred-and-sixty-three remaining traps in the Gorge. Deidara stayed within Konan’s line of sight. Moving swiftly, they blanketed the boulders and foliage with tiny white traps. From a distance, it looked as if it had snowed.
As Konan tucked her last trap into the branches of a sturdy mulberry tree not far from the mouth of the Gorge, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
She spun—nothing, no one. But she was certain: something was there.
“Deidara-kun,” she called softly, waving a beckoning hand. “Come here. Let’s head back.”
Her young apprentice glanced around, and noticing how dark it had become, hurried over to his master’s side. His cloak was still crooked. Arms free now, Konan straightened it for him, and rubbed her hands up and down his shoulders to warm him up.
“Can you feel it?” she asked, glancing around. They both knew she didn’t mean the cold air.
It was unmistakable now: the ghosts were rising. As the shadows deepened, pearly white forms flickered in the periphery.
“I can see them, un,” Deidara said, unable to keep the wonder from his voice. He’d seen ghosts—everyone had seen ghosts—but never up close like this.
“Stay near me,” Konan cautioned, fingering the spare slips of paper in her pockets. She wouldn’t have time to make a strong trap if they were attacked, but even a temporary spell would buy them the time they’d need to escape.
Fwip! Fwip, fwip!
“The traps!” Deidara exclaimed, pointing.
Where half a dozen white traps had been before, now the papers were stained dark purple, with ghostly white writing—names.
Deidara edged closer. Did he recognise any of them?
“Get back!” Konan grabbed Deidara’s wrist and yanked him to her side. She knelt to scold him, piercing him with her gaze: “The traps are fragile. The slightest touch will set the ghost free once more. We’ve only set six thousand traps—as per our pact with the villagers. No matter what we do, some spirits will still find their way out of the Forest, and we will be to blame.”
Hanging his head, Deidara allowed Master Konan to take his hand and lead him forward.
“So… ghosts…?” Deidara’s question from earlier hung in the air between them.
“Ghosts are dangerous because they possess people,” Konan explained softly, squeezing her little apprentice’s hand. “They take over the bodies of the living and drive them insane. Few people survive such an ordeal.”
Deidara swallowed on a dry throat and looked up at her. For an instant he looked just as scared and helpless as he had the first day they met.
Konan squeezed his hand again. “I’ll protect you, Deidara-kun. Besides, witches are strong. Your mind cannot be broken so easily.”
“I know… un.”
They made their way back through the Forest, threading between night-black tree trunks and saplings just as silently as the fog that curled around the hems of their cloaks. Every so often they’d hear a fwip! as yet another ghost succumbed to one of their traps.
Not wanting to alarm Deidara, yet still aching to read the names on the traps, Konan mumbled a far-sight spell under her breath, enhancing her vision to the extent that she could count the number of spiders scuttling over the leaves beneath their feet.
Mito.
Haku.
Rin.
None were the name she sought. She released the breath she’d been holding. Would she see him this year? How long had it been?
Her memories of him were beginning to fade. What colour had his hair been? Red…? No. Orange, bright orange like the sunset that had melted across her worktable earlier. His eyes…? She couldn’t remember. But they had always been laughing. No. She remembered them filled with ferocious fire, fighting for their lives… He had always been so brave…
“We’ll have dinner when we get back, right?” Deidara piped up, startling Konan from her reverie. While Konan’s mind wandered, Deidara could think of only one thing: his rumbling stomach.
“Yes, we’ll—” Konan started to reply, but an icy blast of wind stole her words. It cut through the trees, viciously whipped their clothing, and swiped her hat clean off her head. Fear flooded her body—this was no natural wind. She crouched down and pulled Deidara inside her embrace, eyes wide and watchful. Something… no. Someone was near.
“What? What is it?” It took all of Deidara’s effort to keep trembling fear from his voice. He sensed the tension in his master’s body, and readied his hands: he’d need them to cast his spells.
The wind quieted down and the Forest fell silent. Eerily silent, as if every leaf and twig were listening, waiting…
They waited a breath. Another breath.
Spiders stirred below. A family of mice poked their heads from a burrow. An owl launched itself from a branch high above, and the Forest lived once more.
“It’s nothing…” Konan whispered. She cast her gaze around. The ghost traps here were all full—that would explain the silence. But that wind… Could it be him? “Let’s go, let’s go…”
This time as they hurried through the Forest, Konan could not shake the sensation that they were being followed.
It started as a heaviness at her back, as if every drop of light in the already dimmed forest were being drained away. Then came the chill. She shuddered. Such malice was laced within it, hatred that threaded its way into her mind. It isn’t fair. They are dying for nothing, a voice whispered. We can stop it. We can save them. She knew these words. She had felt this anger before…
“Stop,” she commanded Deidara. A thrill of fear, and—she scarcely dared admit it—excitement, carried through her body.
He was here.
“Stay behind me, Deidara-kun,” Konan whispered. “And whatever happens, do not use your magic unless I order you to.”
Confused, Deidara nodded, glancing around. He, too, could sense the dark and chilling presence hiding in the shadows.
“Is it a ghost?” he asked.
“Quiet,” Konan snapped. Her honey-gold eyes scanned the darkness. Where…?
There!
A flash of white shot towards them, quick as lightning, but Konan was faster: she whipped the packet of spell-paper out of her pocket and cast a glowing shield around them.
“FIGHT ME!” a bodiless voice roared.
It was him!
In spite of her fear—the danger was real—Konan smiled.
“Come on!” she cried, exhilaration lighting her eyes. She muttered a spell and contorted her fingers, and several pieces of their paper shield twisted into wicked-sharp darts. “Come out and face us like a man!”
Another icy blast of wind pounded into Konan’s body and shield—she crossed her arms in front of her face. Deidara peeked out from behind Konan’s flying cloak.
A blindingly white shape appeared before them, formless at first, but slowly gaining definition. It raised its arms and released a mighty battle cry.
“FIGHT ME!” Dark holes appeared where his facial features would be, were he alive: two deep eyes and a gaping mouth.
“Show us your best,” Konan countered, readying her darts. “We can take you. Don’t hold back, now… Yahiko.”
Deidara’s eyes grew wide. Master Konan knew this ghost. He looked up at her face and was surprised to see the child-like playfulness in her eyes.
“I’ve waited so long for you…” she whispered, widening her stance and softening her knees. “Let’s fight, like when we were little, before we grew too strong for our own good…”
The ghost did not hear this. The ghost did not recognize her. It roared once more, and charged. Konan ran forward with an equally wild cry. She skipped sideways, dodging the ghost’s grasping limbs—one touch was all it would take for the ghost to possess her—and fired her magical darts. They passed through the ghost’s spectral body, seemingly harmless, but a second later the ghost howled in pain.
Deidara dashed backwards, out the way, but stayed within spell-casting distance. He lifted his hands, ready to use his magic if called on. His heart was in his throat as he watched Konan dance with the ghost and its wind, the two of them kicking up a whirlwind of dead leaves.
“Water Release: Wild Water Wave!” the ghost bellowed as he formed the hand seals. A spectral tsunami spewed from his mouth. Konan threw up a shield of paper just in time to protect herself, but the icy mist swirled around Deidara’s ankles, freezing his feet in place.
“Master Konan!” he cried in a shrill voice. He couldn’t move. Crystals of ice—real ice—were creeping up his legs.
But his Master was busy countering the ghost’s attacks. They were circling closer and closer… If Master Konan wasn’t careful, the ghost would touch her. If the ghost possessed her…
“What can I do…!” Deidara fretted, turning this way and that, looking for something, anything to break himself free of the ice. Frost clung to his torso. If he didn’t move quickly, he’d lose control of his hands and then he wouldn’t be able to—
—do magic. Of course.
He had just the spell for this.
Where Master Konan used paper, Deidara channelled his magic though enchanted clay. Cracking open his hip-pouch—it was nearly frozen shut—he reached inside with both hands so that the mouths in his palms could chew the substance as he recited the spell.
Seconds later, tiny clay ants were crawling from Deidara’s hand-mouths, down his legs to the forest floor. He didn’t need a big explosion, just a hot one.
The ghost sensed that something was amiss. He looked over at Deidara. Searing black eyes chilled Deidara to the bone.
With a roar, the ghost swooped forward just as Deidara cried:
“Katsu!”
The ground began to glow a brilliant yellow. The air grew warm as summer wind. Deidara’s magical fire would not burn flesh or tree… but it did destroy the ghost’s icy hold on him. Feet released, Deidara dove aside before the ghost could catch him, but then a strange thing happened: where the fire touched the ghost’s pearly-white form, colours appeared, bleeding like ink.
Master Konan rushed to Deidara, sprawled on the leafy ground.
“What did you… do?” she whispered, eyes wide and fearful, transfixed by the ghost’s transformation.
There stood Yahiko, with his warm brown eyes, ruddy skin, and village emblem forehead protector holding bright orange hair off his face. He lifted his hands in front of his eyes, lips parted in surprise.
“Yahiko…?” Konan breathed.
He looked up and saw her.
“Konan?”
A smile bloomed on Konan’s face, a smile the likes of which Deidara had never seen. The years faded away; she laughed like a little girl and jumped to her feet.
“Yahiko! It’s me!” She took a step forward, then stopped. What would happen if she touched him? Did she dare risk it?
The ghost grinned. Although his spectral form now bore colour, its pearlescent quality betrayed him as less than human. He, too, took a step forward, and yelped in confusion when he continued to drift.
“What is this?” he asked, waving his arms about. “What’s wrong with me?”
Konan’s smile faltered. But it was Yahiko. He’d hate to see her cry.
She grinned even harder as she forced a laugh and said: “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you’re dead, Yahiko!”
Deidara, who’d slowly crawled to his feet during this exchange, jumped out from behind Master Konan and kicked a pile of leaves in Yahiko’s direction. The leaves passed right through him.
“Yeah!” Deidara exclaimed. “You’re a ghost, un.”
“Oh!” Yahiko planted his hands on his hips and put on a thoughtful face. That serious look had never suited him. “I suppose that makes sense. My memory’s a bit fuzzy but…”
Konan stepped nearer. Her intuition was telling her that Yahiko’s new form was very different. That it was safe. She reached out with tentative fingers, and tapped Yahiko on the chest. Her fingers dipped inside. It was warm. She turned to Deidara.
“What did you do?” she asked again, unable to conceal her wonder.
Deidara wasn’t all that sure himself. He’d invented the spell quite accidentally one day when seeking a way to create heat rather than destruction.
“I just wanted to melt the ice… un.”
Beaming gently at her apprentice, Konan ruffled his hair and pulled him close. “Well, whatever you did, I’m grateful.” She looked up at Yahiko. “You’ve given me a chance to reconnect with an old friend.”
“And now we’ve got a new way to deal with ghosts!” Deidara said, proud of his achievement. He punched the air like a boxer. “Ha-ha! If we meet any more on the way home, you just leave ‘em to me, un!”
He set off in the direction of the cottage, confidently crunching through dried-up leaves.
Konan turned to Yahiko, a demure smile playing on her lips.
“Would you like to join us for dinner?” she murmured. “I’m not sure how long you’ll be able to stay this side of the Veil, but…”
Yahiko placed a warm hand on her shoulder.
“It would be my pleasure.”
☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ